


Even If It Kills Me

by dogwatch



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Harry Styles, Angry Harry Styles, Attempted Murder, Brutal Murder, Cabin Fic, Drug Abuse, Drunk Harry Styles, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Main Character (Mystic Messenger), Harry Styles Smokes, Haunted Houses, Horror, Hurt Harry Styles, Implied Sexual Content, Murder, Murder Mystery, Murderers, Mystery, Niall Horan & Harry Styles Friendship, On the Run, Psychological Horror, Reader-Insert, Small Towns, Submissive Main Character (Mystic Messenger)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogwatch/pseuds/dogwatch
Summary: Some secrets are just dying to get out.
Kudos: 5





	1. o n e

**Author's Note:**

> Helllllllo! I am moving this story from Wattpad to here. I hope you enjoy!

The Uber driver shifted his sunglasses onto his forehead, pulling the vehicle off the road by the mouth of a gravel driveway, still keeping all four tires on the steaming grey asphalt. I glanced up from the back seat to meet their eyes in the rearview.

"I just washed my car... you don't mind that I don't drive it any farther down the gravel and dust it up, right?"

I unbuckled my seatbelt, sending a half smile, holding back from rolling my eyes. "Here is fine. Thanks." Four stars, my ass. I grabbed my two suitcases, and closed the door. I turned to wave, but they were already driving off, their tires crunching in the dry gravel.

Humidity stuck to my skin like a wet sheet.

The path crunched tight under the soles of my shoes; the road was worn and needed upkeep. The gravel was faded into a thin, fine dust more than rock. Pine trees grew tall on either side of the path, granted a few feet leeway from the gravel on both sides. The woods smelled wet and moist, and of soft dirt. I wasn't used to such a natural smell. Coming from a university town five hours away, the quiet nature was refreshing. The incessant hum of cicadas rattled through the trees and undergrowth, creating a white noise that engulfed me. It was like static.

Just as my bags begun to feel the heaviest, the road curved into itself, and revealed a dark-wood cabin. Big enough to be a two story and then, some. There seems to be a back sunroom, peeking just around the far corner, with a good sized gardening shed in the back.

The gravel driveway was muddied halfway between the shed and the front porch, revealing a set of tire tracks. Odd.

As I stepped up to the edge of the porch, the wooden planks creaked with my shifting weight. I set the bags down at my side, exhaling deeply. Just as the landlord had said over the phone, the key was under the ragged rug by the front door. I glanced around into the window, looking inside to see cotton-white curtains blocking my view to the interior. The wooden posts, on the far corners of the porch, looked sturdy and seemed to be newer wood than the rest of the house.I brought my attention back to the door in front of me. Rubbing the key between my fingers again, my eyes fell upon the keyhole.

The lock on the door looked as if it had just been installed; brand new stainless steel. The key I had couldn't possibly fit this lock. The glistening silver metal that contrasted against the old wooden frame of the door.

Surely they hadn't updated the locks from the past renters and forgotten to give me a new key... I tried it anyway, but the key didn't even begin to fit.

I rubbed my hands over my face, and into my hair. After a three hour long car ride, all I was looking forward to was settling in and taking a shower. I pushed one of my bags out of the way with my foot, and put the unlucky bronze key into my pocket. As I began to pace on the porch, the floor boards creaked and groaned, complaining with every step I made.

I pulled out my phone to call the landlord.

NO SERVICE.

5:59 PM

Maybe the backdoor is unlocked? Surely there has to be a window open or something. Why is this house dead-bolted?

I stepped down off the front porch, my boots meeting the rusty red of the pine needles, bedding on the ground around the house. There was a window on the eastern side of the cabin just low enough for me to look inside. Again, my eyes met stark white curtains though the slightly cracked, dusty window. I tried to lift it, but it was locked shut. The window was old, and made of paned glass. There wasn't a screen to take apart to sneak in, and I didn't necessarily want to break the glass to get in.

There was a second story, however, and it looked like the window up there was slightly open, probably to let in a breeze. There's no way to reach it.

I walked around to the back, where there was a small, screened-in back porch; the cabin's sunroom. The wind blew slightly, bringing a breeze through the open area, making the screen door open briefly, then slam back against the frame with a hollow smack.

The little sun room was home to a few hemp-woven chairs and a chair hammock hung from the rafters. It reminded me of a green house. Burlap bags of fertilizer and soil sat in the corner nearest the door, among empty flowerpots. Plants decorated nearly every inch; big potted plants between the chairs, and several hanging ferns, ivy, succulents and cacti hung from ropes in their pots. The past occupants must have been a bit of horticulturalists.... but it's a shame they left all of this.

The small screened in room led to the back of the cabin, hinting that this part of the house had been renovated and added on after the original foundation. A heavy wooden door, matching the one around front, lay at the opposite end of the room.

With matching stainless steel lock system.

Optimistically, I tried turning the knob. It was just as dead bolted as the first door and the key didn't fit. I pulled out my phone, dialing the contact "LANDLORD," but was met with still no signal. Perfect. 

The sharp "whack" of the screen door slamming against the wood frame made me jump nearly out of my skin, and I spun around to see the shed just a few steps away.

The gravel was thicker on the path to the garden shed, revealing less time spent heading back and forth. The shed looked smaller from a distance, but up close it was rather a good size. Almost the size of a small garage or barn. A security light hung out on the front rafters. I leaned against the wooden frame, peering through the thin, dusty air. It seemed to be nothing but random rusting gardening equipment. A small road bike, tires thin and somewhat bare. A washer, a dryer, oddly out of place. But they both appeared to be in working condition, one of the few un-dusted things.

With a sigh, I turned, and went to recheck the windows.   
\---

NO SERVICE.

7:00 PM

The ladder hit with a dull thud, and to my dismay, barely reached the bottom of the one opened window sill on the second floor.

I made sure it was balanced well on the ground, clearing out the pine needles around the bottom so it wouldn't slip around once I started up. The wooden structure shivered with every movement, but I kept telling myself not to look down as I continued to climb, making sure my footing was steady and to maintain my grip. The window opened wider with a wooden squeak, just big enough for me to shimmy inside.


	2. t w o

As my feet hit the floor, I was taken aback.

The room looked.... occupied?

The nightside table had an old oil lamp, one side of it blackened by soot. A few knickknacks lay beside it; a bottle of men's cologne, a fabric hair tie, a Stephen King novel with a bookmark shoved between the dog-eared pages, nearly 3/4 of the way through. A red wine bottle, drained dry, sat tall between the nightstand and the bed. The room smelled of mahogany and cedar, no doubt from the obvious wooden structure, but also a soot smell; possibly from candles that no where in sight.

Did the past tenets just...leave everything behind?

The hardwood floor on was oddly painted red; chipping and peeling from age and tread marks. The white-washed wooden walls, which were just as aged as the floor, were also slightly peeling. The entire room looked like an old snake, who had just begun to shed its skin. To the left of the window was a bed. Its iron cast frame held the white sheets like tarnished bones. The pillows had been flattened, as if they were just recently slept on, however, the sheets and covers were neatly made and tucked under the mattress. The window to the bedroom was still open, so I pulled the curtains to and shut it, latching it with a small bronze hook.

I opened the drawer to the nightstand, the old wood resisting slightly, to find a pile of several other books, all worn from reading.

"There is no way they left all this here..." I murmured. I shook my head, and slid the drawer back into place, and it latched with a click. I noticed a bright yellow note pad resting beside the oil lamp. Scribbled in thin handwriting was : Ben Libbard

555-654-2229

Don't hesitate to call.

Ben Libbard... the landlord? 

I checked my phone, and luckily a single bar of service appeared. I dialed the contact and counted the ringing. I glanced around the room until he finally picked up, just as I thought it was about to go to voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Uh yeah, Ben? This is Elise Brooks, the renter at 1424 Solomon Road?"

"Yes, how are you?" He sounded annoyed. 

"I'm okay. You did say the place was vacant starting this weekend, right?" I stepped over to the bookshelf, examining items. "The key didn't work, and it seems like someone is still-"

"The key I left you?"

"Yes, it-"

"That's weird."

"Yeah, I know. So I-"

"Did the other tenet let you in then?"

I paused. "Other tenet?"

"Elsie, your signal is pretty bad, I can barely hear you...." His muffled voice became choppy, and before I could respond, the call dropped.

This was supposed to be a single bedroom cabin... there was no mention of another tenet? 

\------

The second floor was very small, big enough for two rooms at opposite ends of the hallway loft and the stairway falling directly between them. I stood for a moment, realizing just how eerily quiet this home was. Not a sound, not even the wind or a single bird call, could be heard. It was like time had stopped. The only time the silence was broken, was when I stepped across the creaking wood floors. It seemed too quiet to be occupied, but the living space said differently.

I brought my hand to the brass doorknob of the second room, to find it was locked. I tried jiggling the handle, thinking it was simply the age of the door, that the frame just might be jammed. It was definitely locked. 

I turn and make my way down the stairway, leading to the front door. Each step creaked seemingly louder than the one before as I made my way down, holding on to the railing since it was so steep.

The front door took a moment to open, sliding all four of the chain locks, and un latching the steel dead bolt with a clank. I walked out onto the front porch, feeling a change in the humidity outside. It was near sunset now, and the woods had become enveloped in twilight. Orange tinted the tree tops and highlighted the rusty red of the pine needles as the rays of light speckled the ground. 

7:32 PM

* BATTERY LOW *

I grabbed my bags off of the front porch, and closed the door behind me, taking the time to refasten all of the locks. 

On the other side of the stairs a little area that looked to be something like a living room. A small burgundy love seat and a torn blue couch sat adjacent to one another, a few house plants on the tables beside them. An antique, woven rug lay worn in the center of the room, held down by a dusty, glass coffee table, decorated with incense dust, an overflowing ashtray, and leather bound books.

The landlord had said that this cabin was fully furnished... but this is definitely more than I expected. I guess it makes sense, if this is a shared cabin....

There was a small box television sitting in the middle of a bookshelf on the wall across from the couch. The television looked ancient. It reminded me of summers spent at my grandmothers house; their old television that required several adjustments to get a clear picture through the station. I ran my hand over the screen, and a thick line of dust coated my fingers. I wiped it off on my jeans, and looked around for a remote to no avail. The dial on the television turned with a dull click, and with a hollow buzz and the sound of static, the television lit up.

A hazy, yellowish screen showed a red-headed newscaster speaking, motioning towards a weather radar. 

"...around Sunday night, then sunny skies for the rest of the week, with a small chance of storms on Thursday. Back to you, Tom."

There we go. It seemed like only one station worked. I sat on the blue couch, running my palm across the threadbare cushions.

"Thank you, Heather. Tonight's top story; tragedy in Wolfpine. The 20-year-old woman found deceased this morning in the children's park has been confirmed as a homici-"

I stood, switching the old dial off with a click. On the other side of the stairway, there appeared to be a small kitchen. The floor here was especially worn. I imagined the many shoes that had walked upon the hardwood, creating little scuffs and scratches in the woodgrain. 

The sun had set, and shadows were creeping in quicker than I would have liked. I turned the corner, on the opposite side of the stairway, next to the kitchen, finding a small door slightly cracked.

An antique claw foot tub sat in the corner under a four-paneled window, half-melted candles in the sill. The medicine-cabinet box mirror hung above the small, white sink, a few empty pill bottles by the faucets, as well as a shiny pair of new scissors.

The sink was covered in hair. Thick, brown, wavy hair, all of it about 3 inches in length. It filled the bottom of the sink, so much that the drain was no longer visible, and pieces had fell off over the sides, decorating the floor. Long strands were still stuck between the scissors. 

What the fuck is this...? 

Something black caught my attention in the stark white of the porcelain tub, and I looked over the curved edge. 

Hiking boots. Untied, and covered in bright clay mud, a flannel shirt, the sleeve torn, and denim jeans, covered in mud as well. The darkness of the wet, clay earth contrasted heavily against the bleach white tub.

"Who the hell are you?"

My heart leapt into my throat, and I spun around to see the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway.


	3. t h r e e

I panicked, backing into the sink, sending the scissors crashing to the floor.

Dark, chestnut hair fell around his face long enough to reach just past his shoulders. He looked like he hadn't slept in days; his skin was slightly tanned with darker bags underneath his eyes.

As my eyes took in the stranger, the dark jade of his remained pinned and unblinking to my own. He was tall, built athletically with strong shoulders under a stained white shirt, half tucked into dark ochre denim jeans. His arms stay at his sides as he blocks the doorway.

"Get out of my fucking house." He says sharply.

"So, I'm-" I tried, my cheeks hot.

"Get. Out." He interrupted, still standing in the door way, fuming. "Why are you in my fucking house?" His sharp green eyes flicked back up to meet mine and held me frozen in place. Crossing his arms while remaining in the doorway, small pupils still boring into mine.

"I'm the new tenet." I managed, trying to sound firm.

He stared at me with narrowed emerald eyes, unmoving his body from the doorway. Unconvinced.

"Bullshit. There wasn't supposed to be someone moving in for another three months...." He spewed quickly, mostly to himself, pulling out a phone of his own and dialing quickly.

I remained where I was as he began talking into the phone.

"Yeah, Ben? This.... You just didn't think to... No but you can't just...yes I know. But you.......I'll be calling you tomorrow to- " A long Silence as he glanced up at me. "I get it. It's fine.."

His call was ended sharply, and he pocketed the phone quickly with a huff. He didn't budge from the doorway, his glare falling unwavering on me. I almost believed he could see my heart pounding from my chest, if he took the time to break eye contact.

He paused for a lengthy moment, eyebrows furrowing as his sharp jaw clenched and unclenched. I could almost hear the thoughts racing through his head right before he answered in an even, cautious tone.

"Didn't expect a roommate this fucking soon." He said harshly, mainly to himself, but faking a smile. I nodded, in agreement but also wielding my own bitterness. This is awkward.

"I didn't expect a roommate at all..." I paused. "I'm Elsie." I reached out a hand, trying to mend the tension. He stared at it for a moment too long, and awkwardly reached out his own. My hand felt small, and soft; nearly crushed by his calloused palms as we shook in introduction.

"Harry." He retorted. I nodded as the tension refilled the room.

He stalled, briefly, clearing his throat before speaking. He moved his arms from across his chest behind his figure, clasping his hands together out of sight.

"Sorry for, uh. Being rude. I was not expecting... company. Especially semi-permanent company ." He forced a fake, closed-lipped smile. I felt my face flush. Semi-permanent?

"Right..." I trailed off, glancing back at the bathroom behind me.

His glare remained trained on me, as if he were still trying to read if I were lying.

"Yeah, I thought I was going to be the only one here. The lease wasn't specific on-"

"You and me both." He interrupted, bringing a cigarette to his lips, but not lighting it. 

He shifted awkwardly, his face still holding a sour expression. Before I could try to fill the silence again, he suddenly pushed past me to the bathroom. I ducked out of the way. He made his way to the antique tub, grabbing the dirty clothes with a glance back to me. "Gardening clothes..." He explained quickly, rushing to the muddied clothes, turning the faucet to run water into the tub.

"If you wouldn't mind, I think I'll finish washing these really quick." He turned, beginning to hurriedly scrub mud off of the boots and clothes. I stood in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do next. His hands aggressively scrubbed at the items with a bristled brush, sending little brown droplets of mud staining the side of the tub. I pushed a strand of stray hair behind my ear, and cleared my throat.

"I used to cut my friends hair, you know." I called over the sound of running water into the hollow tub. I nodded towards the sink full of chopped hair.

His head spun around so quickly I thought it would fly off his shoulders.

"Excuse me?" He glanced back at the sink with an accusing stare.

"Hair." I motioned towards the sink. "I used to cut hair. So if you need someone to-"

"Oh, right," he exhaled in a forced laugh, grabbing the scissors from off of the sink and sticking them in his back pocket. "Not very good at it, am I? It was a bit impulsive." He cracked a smile, this time it seemed genuine, and ran a wet hand through his shoulder length, butchered locks.

I stood, shifting from one foot to another, trying to come up with a good excuse to leave the room.

Just as I was glancing over my shoulder, he broke the silence with a smoky voice.

"So how long are you supposed to be staying here?" The question itself seemed innocent but the tone in which it was posed felt rude. I debated on answering.

"Not sure." I retorted, keeping all walls up. I was debating on looking over the lease agreement, to see if I could get out of this. I couldn't afford any other place in the area, so I felt a bit trapped. My finances were tight, and I didn't have much room to be picky. I shifted again when he didn't continue with the dull conversation, and took it as my time to leave. I was not ten feet from the bathroom when he called out, stepping out from the door frame.

"There's food in the fridge." He said, drying his hands on a hand towel, strands of uneven chestnut hair falling into his face. He said something indiscernable to himself, such a low whisper I wonder if I made it up in my mind.

"Oh, I..." I trailed off. I wasn't one for handouts, but my stomach sharpened at the mention of food. I hadn't eaten since much earlier this morning, and even then it was a gas station coffee and a donut.

"I figured you didn't have food." He nodded to where my bags were, leaning against the armchair in the living room. "There's red wine in the cabinet, beer in the fridge, whichever you'd like. Help yourself." He brushed past me, tucking the hand towel in his back pocket, and made his way to the kitchen.

"Thank you. Put this on my tab; I'll grab my own groceries tomorrow." I called out in response as kindly as I could manage, feeling guilty. I don't like this.

I shoved my hands into my back pockets, watching him open the freezer and pull out a cellophane-wrapped pizza. Although it looked cardboard-thin, my stomach growled at even the mention of food. "You like red?" He asked, raising a cheap wine bottle towards me.

"I don't really drink." I replied. Ignoring me, he pulled out two wine glasses of the cabinet and set them on the small table in the middle of the room.

He poured mine, and his; both equally half full. A droplet fell over the neck of the bottle, and he quickly brought it to his mouth to lick up as if it were precious gold. I adverted my eyes as he handed me my glass, he raised his in a toast.

"To, uh. New roommates." He said, clinking his glass against mine. "Cheers." His eyes flashed bright jade for a moment, before his gaze returned to it's dark mossy-forest shade.

* * * * *

The pizza was disgusting. But I was hungry, so I ate. We didn't bother with silverware or plates, but if we had, I could imagine the sound of forks clinking on plates through awkward silence. We didn't speak much, aside of the occasional murmur of how good the pizza was. I felt bad, and promised him several times that I would pay him back, to which he brushed off.

"I really appreciate it." I said, motioning towards the pizza. He didn't respond. "Seriously though, I'll buy my own food tomorrow. I didn't realize that this was a shared living thing or I'd-"

He suddenly stood, the chair harshly grinding on the hardwood floor, sending shivers up my spine. He grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring himself his third glass of the evening.

"You don't like red?" Nodding towards my still-full glass, his voice was heavy with wine.

"Not a fan. Sorry." I forced a smile, and another sip of a wine. The glass felt heavy.

"Well, don't feel like you have to finish it..." He grabbed my glass and emptied the contents into his own, nearly overflowing it.

He smiled, and sat back down in his chair with a huff. I shifted uncomfortably. He ran his tongue over his lips, letting the wine settle in his mouth and turned to face me. He shifted where his elbow was draped over the backside of his chair, and he let his heavy eyes bore into mine. I had to advert my eyes but I still felt my face grow hot from the awkwardness.

I ran my finger along the top of my now-empty glass, and made an attempt at conversation. "Do you know how far away the coffee place, Beans, is...? My maps had said about 15 min walk, but I wasn't sure..." I didn't feel I could trust my phone with the sketchy service. 

"Why?" He asked, suddenly harsh.

I glanced up. "I have an interview tomorro-"

"Yeah, it's about a 10 minute walk, give or take," he interrupted sharply, taking a sip of his wine. "Shitty little place, though."

"What?" I pushed, setting my glass to the side and crossing my arms. Either he was downright rude, or lacked social awareness and social cues. He interrupted me every chance he had. Leaning his chair back on two legs, finishing off his wine, he reached for the bottle again.

Giving a half assed shrug, he titled his wineglass up into the light, the dark liquid beginning to glow scarlet from illumination. "It's a shitty little cafe. Shit coffee."

"It's a job, so I don't care." I said matter-of-factly. He didn't respond. I continued. "So where exactly in town? I don't have much signal out here to-"

"You got a car?" He asked, lighting raising an eyebrow, his tone becoming a bit sarcastic. I folded my arms in front of me.

I couldn't exactly say "no, I don't have a fucking car, I had to sell it to break my lease, lose my deposit, and move out here, you prick." So instead I said flatly, "I don't." 

He tilted his chair forward again, slamming down on all four legs again. His lips pressed together, and seemed to roll that thought over in his head. He grunts, getting up to wash the empty glass of wine in the sink.

"It's a bit of a straight shot into town. You take the a left on the main road out of here and it'll lead you to the square." He instructed, and I glanced back up, waiting for his directions to turn this into something rude. I remembered the old bike in the shed behind the house, and I thought it couldn't hurt to ask....

"Could I borrow the bike in the shed? I'd pay you-" I started, but he immediately cut me off.

"What was that?" He snapped, dropping the glass into the sink with a clang.

"The bike in the shed? Is it-" I said.

"The bike?" He snapped, dropping the glass into the sink with a clang. I froze, my hand perched on the neck of the wine glass. My eyes darted between either of his, a low, angry fire beginning to emerge from his irises. Did I say something wrong...?

"How did you know about that bike?" He said, turning his entire body around to face me. My heart leapt into my throat. My hands started quivering so badly I had to put them under my legs. 

"I was trying to get into the house...the key didn't work, so I looked in the-" I managed.

"Right." He retorted harshly. "That was my next question. How the hell did you get into my house? I changed the locks."

"You changed the-?"

"How did you get in."

"I climbed in through the window."

A beat of silence.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." He said flatly.

I felt my face flush red.

"I got into the damn house, didn't I?" I sneered. He smiled, and opened the fridge, grabbing a brown beer bottle. He uncapped it on the edge of the counter with a hiss, ignoring my response.

"I'm going to take a shower." I said shortly, and made my way into the bathroom, I could almost feel him glaring as I passed, and made a note to somewhat slammed the door behind me.

The dial twisted with a squeak over the clawfoot tub and droplets of freezing water burst out of the shower head above.

A heavy-handed knock at the door with a muffled voice made my heart drop.

"Hot water takes a while."

It seemed like ages before the icy water heated up to a mild lukewarm, just enough to leave a trace of goosebumps across my arms and back. Running a hand through my wet hair, I slid my tongue across my teeth. The wine had left such a bitter aftertaste. I shuttered.

Just as my hand reached the dial to end the shower, the lights flickered once, and then turned off completely.


	4. f o u r

There are very few times that I have felt as vulnerable as I felt as soon as those lights flickered off. Alone, naked, and standing under the slow drip of the shower head. 

You've got to be shitting me. 

"Harry.....?" I called out into the darkness, feeling for the shower curtain. 

No response. The droplets fell into the bottom of the tub in dully-timed, rhythmic taps. 

I couldn't see anything. Not even my own hand in front of my face.

"Hello?" I called out again, my voice slightly softer this time, feeling only the humidity from the heat of the steam.

My heart beat double time with the steady drops of water. I was completely engulfed in darkness. I don't know the layout of the room enough to try to find my way around in the pitch black, plus with the way the lights flickered, it seemed as though the entire house had lost power. My skin prickled, but not from the cold. I was holding my breath, trying to figure out what I should do.

I was sopping wet, holding myself, standing completely alone in an unfamiliar clawfoot tub. A heavy handed knock made me yelp. "Hey, something's going on with the power. You good?"His voice was muffled through the wood of the door. Every sound seemed to be amplified by twelve in the complete darkness.I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath and exhaled.

I nodded in return. But then realized he couldn't see my reaction. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. "

"The fuse box is in the shed so I'll have to go reset it. I hope a fuse didn't blow. Do you need-" He said, turning the door knob.

"HEY HEY HEY...Stop!" I said, covering myself. The door knob stopped.

"What...?" He asked.

"I'm naked." I said, subconsciously covering myself up.

"Oh you can't be serious, it's fucking pitch black." He huffed. I felt my face flare up.

"Plus; you forgot to bring a towel." He said. I could feel him speaking through a smile, and my face blushed even more. But he was right. 

"Okay, you can come in." I called out, trying to ring my hair out as much as I could.

The door clicked open and creaked at the hinges. I heard his hands feeling around the room, finally meeting the plastic shower curtain and pulling it to the side. Even though I expected it, I jumped at the sound.

"Here." He called, and my heart leapt, realizing from the closeness of his voice that he was right in front of me. I shakily reached my hand out, the other hand covering my breasts, and felt my fingertips meet the cloth.

I snatched it, and immediately retracted myself, wrapping myself in the towel.

"Shit," I heard him mumble as he struggled through what sounded like the cabinet.

"Here we go," he finally said, mainly to himself. Suddenly a small, glowing flame lit up right in front of his face, catching a glimmer in his eye. As quickly as it was lighted it disappeared again. A lighter.

He continued to flick the lighter on, making his way to the candles in the windowsill. He cursed under his breath as the flame bit his finger while he lit the scented candles. The room became a hazy, orange glow from the candles. His back was turned to me in silhouette as his lit the last candle.

"Alright." He said in a sigh. He pulled a cigarette from his front shirt pocket, lighting it quickly, the ember brightening as he inhaled. For the first time since he had entered the room, he made eye contact with me, the glow from the end of the cigarette breathing light onto his face. He immediately lowered his gaze, somewhat respectfully, and I wrapped the towel around me even tighter.

He cleared his throat. "I'll go check the fuse box." He grabbed one of the candles, holding his hand around it to protect the flame from going out.

"I'll go with you." I said, mainly because I didn't want to be in this house alone. If I thought it was creepy before... the candle light just amplified the eeriness.

"That's oka-"

"I'm coming." I said, with finality. I didn't like the dark...

"Let's go, then." The flame lit up his face in a soft glow, but his expression was cold. "Get dressed."

I shut the door slightly behind him, and I rushed to throw my clothes on.

I heard him talking quietly to himself on the other side of the door.

"Never a fucking dull night."


	5. f i v e

The humidity outside of the cabin was tenfold, and my hair stuck to my head.

Harry led the way out the back door, his hand cupping the flame. I followed a small distance behind; not wanting to be any nearer to him than I had to, but also trying to keep close to the glow of the candle.

There was no moonlight; everything was a dark, deep shade of velvety black. Stars peppered the indigo sky, more than I had seen in months. It was a clean feeling; to be under a clear night sky without light pollution or the glow of a city scape interrupting.

And now the faint glow of a candle lighting a silhouette around Harry's frame.

The dirt path led from the back porch to the shed. His stride nearly doubled mine. As carefully as we were both walking in the dark, I still had to walk twice as fast to keep up. The shed loomed in front of us, and he took a step inside and towards the left. As he turned the candle lit up his face, glancing over at me.

A rusty red fuse box lay against the wall, covered in cobwebs.

His hands pried it open with a groan, and he ran his fingers down the switches, trying to find one that had tripped. Small pieces of tape labeled in cursive stuck yellowing beside each switch. Shed. House. Green house.

"This happens more than you'd think." He mentioned haphazardly. 

A large red handle on the side of the labels had the word "RESET" scribbled on the plastic.He yanked it down, and it released. It shifted back into its original position. With the sound of static, a small, bare florescent light came on over head, lighting the shed. His face looked different in this light; it wasn't as warm from candle light. Instead it was colder, matching his entire appearance and demeanor.

As we were heading back in, he spoke. 

"I don't know if Ben told you." He called out. I didn't stop walking. "The second bedroom wont unlock."

I stopped, half way between the cabin and halfway to the shed. I turned, just to see him lighting an oil lantern. He must be joking.

"You're joking." I said, the humidity making my face break out into sweat.

"The couch pulls out." He said, flicking off the shed light and starting to walk towards me.

"Are you serious?" I asked, unsure if he was just fucking around with me. He passed me, brushing past my shoulders, one arm extended with the lantern.

He didn't respond.

The door closed loudly behind him.

*****

The thin curtains let in the sun earlier than I would've liked.

I didn't sleep much. Turns out, he wasn't pulling my leg. When I checked the second bedroom, it was nevertheless, completely locked. I guess I'd have to call Ben once I got service for a solution....

The pull out couch was just as uncomfortable as you'd think. I felt every metal spring through the threadbare cushions. As soon as Harry had gotten into the house he must have went straight into his bedroom, because I didn't see him the rest of the night. 

The house was empty. Not a sound but the occasional bird from the outside. I had assumed Harry had left at the crack of dawn. The only sign of his presence this morning was a steaming half pot of fresh coffee, which I was very grateful for. It was nice to have the house to myself.

The kitchen floor creaked with every step. I decided a cup of coffee would suffice, and grabbed a white mug from the cabinet. No sugar, or creamer was to be found.

Straight black coffee, it is.

I made my way to the living room. I clicked the television on, slightly adjusting the antennas again to clear up the remaining static.

"...to all in the area. Our top story this morning, continuing on the gruesome discovery of the body of a local woman. Our Emily Lock is covering the latest on this discovery."

"Thank you, Matt. Wolfpine Police Dept. have identified the body of the woman found in the park two nights ago."

The coffee burned my lip as I took a hesitant drink. I turned the volume up.

"22-year old Abigail Luxen, a native of Wolfpine. They say they are investigating this case as a homicide, but are not releasing any additional details at this time. The autopsy reports should be in within the next few days."

The screen switched to footage of a children's playground in a park, heat simmering from the parking lot, surrounded by cop cars and bright yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze.

"An area known for being peaceful; a local children's playground on the outskirts of town, is now the center of murder investigation. Shauna Reynolds was taking her children to the playground when her son found the body, which was hidden under one of the slides." 

"Abigail was a great girl." A family member sat crying in front of the camera. His eyes were hollowed, he still seemed in shock. "She didn't have a single enemy. Never knew a stranger. There wasn't anyone who wasn't a friend to Ab-"

Turning the TV off, I set the coffee to the side and put my head in my hands. This wasn't exactly the new start in my life that I had imagined.

I sighed. Just give it a chance.

Besides. You have no where else to turn.

******

I threw my purse over my shoulder, and made my way to the door. A bright yellow post it note was stuck to the wood just above the handle. Scribbled roughly in sharpie, mainly uppercase:

I'LL Be BACK BeFORe YOU ARe. YOU DONT NeeD A KeY. LOCK THe DAMN DOORS. -H

"Oh, how sweet," I scoffed.

Just as the door opened, I stopped in my tracks. Leaning against one of the posts that connected to the short stairs, dusted off, was the blue road bike. 

*******

The gravel road still stretched out quite the distance, but the bike helped cut down on time. Soon the gravel drive led to a faded asphalt road that led through the woods. It was about a 10 minute ride into town, just as Harry had said. 

The town square was the first thing that lay in front of me. Still surrounded by pine, the old historic brick buildings stood tall in the haze.

Oddly, there were very few cars that drove around the square. Most were parked in back lots behind the buildings, and there were a few pedestrians strolling along the sidewalks in front of the shops. 

A big, rusted, faded yellow metal sign hung above one of the shops, reading "BEANS."

Well, that would be it. The 'shitty' little cafe, mimicking Harry's phrasing. I parked the bike on the rack beside the window, and peeked inside. My reflection stood in the way, but I could see a black and white tiled floor and several wooden tables.

I took a deep breath, and pushed the entrance door. The sharp trill of a bell attached to the frame rang out, and an old, black haired woman's head popped up from behind the counter.  
Every table was open, candles unlit in little baskets on each. The chairs were pushed up neatly, and napkins lay in woven baskets in the center. Painted landscapes hung on yellowed, floral wallpaper.

On the counter near the register sat a mason jar, with a bright pink label in sharpie handwriting.

JUSTICE FOR ABIGAIL LUXEN - DONATIONS FOR FUNERAL COSTS

"Coffee's brewing now, I'll be right with you." She said, returning to whatever she was doing under the counter.

"Actually, I have an interview this morning, but I'm a little early." I said as politely as possible. Her head popped back up, bangs falling into her eyes.

"Oh!" She mumbled. "Elliot, right?"

"Elsie, actually."

"Of course of course. Elsie. Have you ever been a barista?" She stood, wiping her hands on her apron. 

"I have." I replied.

"Since I've been a little short handed since..." She trailed off. "I'm Auna." she reached out a wrinkled hand. I smiled. "We can call this a working interview. There's an employee room in the back; second door on the right. You can set your stuff in there." She nodded to my purse. 

****

My "working interview" consisted of four customers. Not exactly the pace I had expected, but Auna taught me how to ring up the usual orders; sandwiches, coffee, the bakery items, etc. I hadn't met any other employees, so it was just she and I all day.

Compared to the waitressing I had done in college on campus, this was a piece of cake. I had worked a steady shift from Noon to about 6:30. Nearly every customer that had come in gave money to Abigail's Donation jar. One older man put a $20 bill in.

When the lunch hour passed, and the lingering last few customers for dinner left, Auna had thanked me for my work, and explained this would most likely be the shift I would have most often, and that I was more than welcome to keep any and all tips.

The skies had promised rain, but none came. The clouds looked angry, but seemed to be holding off.

"Thank you again!" I called out. I hung up the apron Auna had given me. "I'll see you tomorrow?" I called out, trying to leave after glancing at the weather, remembering I had quite the bike ride ahead of me.

"We are actually closed tomorrow." She said softly. "Abby's memorial service is tomorrow at 7." She said, saying her name for the first time. She turned to count the drawer, her back to me.

"Who...?" I said quietly. 

"She works here." She said, catching in her voice a little. I winced at her use of present tense... "Actually, if you'd want to come, we do need help setting up. Be here by 7." She said, somewhat short. And I nodded. 

"I'll be there." I called, and rushed out the door. I exhaled, trying to steady myself. This is an...interesting way to begin a new job. She works here...? Abigail? Where have I heard that name before...

And then it hits me. The news, this morning. She was the woman they found dead in the park...

I grabbed the bike, glancing up at the sky. Still a dark, angry grey. The clouds looked full, as if they were about to overflow, and the air had a spark to it. It was about to storm.

I kicked the stand up, and started pedaling as fast as I could.


	6. s i x

Distant thunder became not so distant, and I felt the rain at my back the entire way to the cabin. The gravel crunched under the near-flat tires of the bike, and just as I had turned down the last stretch of road, the skies opened up.

The rain was so heavy, and so sudden, that I was soaked within a moment. Cold pebbles of rain pelted my back, drenching my clothes in seconds. The gravel road curved slightly, and I hung to the right, and lost control of the bike. The gears crunched on each other, the water aggravating the already-rusted metal, and the pedals spun without catch, the chain had fallen off.

Pushing my wet hair from my face, I kneeled to see if I could get the bike chain back on, the rain coming down harder than ever. My hands slipped from the water, the chain slipping between my fingers.

"Fuck...." I hissed, setting the bike down on it's side out of frustration.

Through the downpour of rain, my ears caught a heavy crunching creeping up behind me, accompanied by the hum of an old truck engine. A dark, cherry red Chevrolet pick up came speeding down the road, braking slightly as it neared me. Through the rain and windshield wipers I could tell it was Harry. He had one hand on the top of the steering wheel and a cigarette in the other.

The tires crunched loudly over the heavy rain as the truck rolled to a stop beside me. He rolled down the passenger side window, squinting at me through the rain. "Need a ride, ma'am?"

"Glad to see you." I laughed half heartedly. My entire body felt ten times heavier from the rain-soaked clothing. I felt-and probably looked like- a drowned rat.

"Sure. " He remarked. My smile faltered at his haughtiness, but I bit my tongue and started walking over to the passenger side. 

With a heavy drag on his cigarette, and a shit-eating grin, he gave a salute, lifting his hand up to his forehead....

And then he floored it past me, kicking up gravel in his wake.  
I stood dumbfounded, my jaw to the ground. 

"Asshole..." I mumbled curses under my breath, and kicked gravel in frustration. I grabbed the handles of my bike, having accepted the fact that I was already soaked and that he wasn't going to be of any help, and started through the flooding gravel towards the house.

As I turned the corner, red brake lights caught my eye sitting just around the bend.

He was parked, waiting. The exhaust came out of the muffler impatiently, the heavy rain drops creating a small mist that silhouetted the red metal of his truck.

His figure leaned over, swinging the passenger door open from the inside.

I didn't think twice. I started running, the bike trailing beside me, the handlebars slippery from rain. 

"Throw it in the back." He called out as I neared the side. The back end of the truck was easy to put down, and I hoisted the busted bike into the bed.

I jumped into the passenger seat side, sliding in on the cold, wet leather, and slammed the door closed. Catching my breath, I exhaled, wiping the rain off of my face. I looked over at him, rolling my eyes. He had a cigarette still between his teeth, one hand on the wheel. He wore dark blue denim jeans, with a red and black flannel, some parts of it threadbare.

"Wasn't supposed to rain until Thursday." He said calmly, his temples pulsing, putting the truck back into gear. I didn't even bother putting my seatbelt on.

"Yeah, well." I scoffed, motioning towards my entire, rain soaked body. He smirked.

The silence filled between us quickly. I tried not to cough at the cigarette smoke choking the interior of the vehicle.

"Thank you." I said quietly, my boots squeaking against one another loudly. The truck made its way down the gravel path slowly, the windshield wipers beating like a double-time metronome.

"Mhm." He mumbled, finishing off the cigarette and crushing it into a small, overflowing ashtray in a cup holder.

It was a summer storm but damn was the rain cold. A shiver ran up my spine as the clothing stuck to my skin like heavy, wet paper.

The truck pulled up close to the edge of the cabin, near the porch. The rain wasn't showing signs of letting up anytime soon, so we had both agreed to just make a run for it.

As I opened the passenger door, the roar of the monsoon took over like white noise.

I ran to the porch under the roof, squeezing the rain out of my hair. I felt as if I had just taken a shower. I started to put my wrung out hair up in a bun, as I looked over to see Harry as he ran to the back of the truck to grab the bike. He ran to the porch as well, holding the bike with one hand as if it didn't weigh but two pounds. He wasn't nearly as soaked as I was, but had still gotten his fair share of rain.

After he propped the bike up against the wall, he shoved past me, making his way to the front door. Pulling his car keys out of his front shirt pocket, a new, silver key caught my eye.  
He put it in the latch and it clicked heavily.

"When do I get a copy of my key?" I asked, still wringing my clothes so I don't puddle in the house.

"You don't." He said sternly, pushing past me and into the house. I glared at his back.

"What if you're not here to unlock it?" I called, stepping inside, making sure to take off my shoes before venturing further.

"Then you wait patiently for me to unlock it for you." He said bluntly, making his way to the kitchen. He reached inside the fridge and pulled out a beer. The cap flicked off with a hiss against the counter top.

I didn't feel like arguing with him anymore, so I left it at that. I walked across the bare floor in my pruned feet, and shut the bathroom door behind me. It felt good to take the heavy, wet clothes off of my body.

The shower dials squeaked on, and I let the water warm up.

***** 

Each raindrop ricocheted off the tin roof like bullets. The rain hadn't ceased. 

Harry sat at the kitchen table, with a glass of what looked to be whiskey, at his side.

"So. About this second bedroom....." I pried, sitting across from him, the chair creaking as I sat.

"What about it?" He said, his voice heavy and slightly slurred.

"I don't want to sleep on the couch; not when I'm paying for a bedroom..." I said quietly, smelling the whiskey on his breath as he exhaled in annoyance.

"I told you, it's locked." He mumbled slowly, throwing back the rest of the liquor, ice cubes clinking against the glass.

"Do you not have a key?" I asked, jumping as he slammed his glass back down.

"No I don't have the fucking key." He slurred quietly under his breath, standing up and stumbling over to the cabinet. He grabbed the counter for support, and he opened the cabinet with his liquor, and refilled his glass with the honey colored liquid.

I remained quiet, biting my tongue, watching him spill half of the drink down his chest as he missed his mouth. My face felt hot, and I looked down at my hands.

He stumbled, catching himself on the fridge, and dropping his glass to the floor, shattering.   
"Fuck it." He grumbled, and ignored the glass shards on the floor. I shook my head.

His boots pushed through the broken glass and he (eventually) made his way to the living room. He fell backwards onto the couch with a loud, exaggerated huff.

"What are you doing...." I asked, picking up what shards of glass I could. He groaned.

"Sleeping." He slurred. I sighed.

"Your bedroom is upstairs." I retorted.

He raised up, disoriented, blood shot eyes slightly crossed. His hair fell into his face, and he shook his head.

"I'm gonna sleep here. Just let me sleep." He managed, speaking extremely slow. Then his head fell back and hit the pillow.

He was out.

I sighed, and walked over to him. I pushed him over onto his side, where he was facing the edge of the couch so that if he puked he wouldn't choke. His chopped chestnut hair was a mess, and he had bags under his eyes. His jawline was strong, and usually tense in thought. But now was slack with intoxication and left his mouth slightly parted. He grumbled as he adjusted to being on his side, and I glanced behind me. I filled a glass with some water and set it in the coffee table in front of him.


	7. s e v e n

Even though Harry was down and out for the night, it was still early.

I turned the dial on the television, trying to find a station that came through the static.   
"....at fifteenth and main. After a brutal discovery in the park earlier this week, police officials have-"

This small town news channel seemed to be the only station that would come through. A picture of a beautiful young girl came up on the screen; dark brunette hair and deep icy-grey eyes. Abigail. The girl who works- worked- at the cafe...

I glanced back at Harry as he shifted, still passed out on the couch.

A slightly overweight cop was being interviewed, his collar seeming to suffocate his neck.

"....about this. We have determined this as a homicide. And there has been a person of interest revealed. If there are any folks out there with an idea of any other clues or leads with this case, then please contact us immediately."

The screen flashed a bullet list of the suspects description.

"We believe the person of interest to be Abigail's fiancé, Alex Grey. Alex is described as having black hair. Age 22. Brown Eyes. 6'1. He was the last to be seen with Abby, speaking to her at a local gas station, and has not been heard of since. If anyone has any information on the identity of this suspects whereabouts, or any other information on the case, please report to the Wolfpine Police Department."

The screen flashed an image of a young man, dressed in a bright red cap and gown. Dark hair, shaved neatly on the sides with long strands on top. His near-black chocolate eyes were bright, and happy, matching a bleach-white smile. He looked to be a typical prom-king athlete, if I were to judge.

He certainly did not look like a murderer.

"Alex was a good guy." A friend of Alex's was being interviewed. "He and Abby were best friends. They loved each other. He would never hurt her. Hell, he couldn't even hurt a fly. Wherever he is, it's not because he's running away from this."

"He had just proposed to her, too. It's scary, because they both just disappeared ya know? I just hope he's okay. We all miss Abby. But something is going on here. He didn't murder her. He wanted to marry her."

I clicked the dial, turning off the television just as it went to a commercial break. I flinched as Harry shifted in his sleep. I exhaled. This news story was actually beginning to get to me, and make me feel incredibly unsafe. It was one thing to be staying in this creepy cabin in the middle of the woods.... but now there is an unsolved murder that happened just down the damn road.

Harry shifted again, mumbling something about bourbon. I glanced over, sighing.

A glimmer in the light caught a silver ring on his wedding finger.

I hadn't noticed that before...... just as I had taken a step towards him for a closer look, he readjusted and put the hand behind his head with a drunken moan.

Assuming that the couch would be Harry's bed for the night, I decided, as the only sober one in the house, that I would nominate myself to sleep in the only unlocked bedroom.

I rolled my eyes at the drunken man on the couch, and turned off the light, making my way upstairs.

****

The door to Harry's bedroom was slightly ajar, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the room and leaked through the crack. I pushed it open with a quiet squeak, and took in the room. The last time I had been in here, I had came in through the window. I grinned to myself.

The bed was neatly made, several pillows near the back of the white iron bed frame head. It looked soft, and cozy. The closet door lay adjacent to the bed, and a bookshelf sat tall next to it. Many old, worn books adorned the shelfs, along with random nicknacks. Horror novels were the main genre on the wooden shelves. The occasional gardening how-to book could be found as well. I ran my finger along a small bronze horse statue on the shelf, wiping away a thin layer of dust. A snow globe, with the Hollywood sign as the printed background, was also lightly covered in dust, and I wiped it away. A brightly adorned wooden corner of a small box poked out from the bottom shelf. Just as my hands were about to pry it open, I scolded myself.

I shouldn't be snooping around like this, going through Harrys's stuff. Drunken asshole or not, he did deserve privacy. I shook my head and put the box back in it's place.

I closed the bedroom door, behind me, and made my way to the bed, my feet shuffling lightly across the creaking floor boards. As I settled into the bed, which sunk in quite a bit as I shifted, I noticed a Stephen King book laying next to the pillow. It was a classic; "The Shining." I smiled to myself. I had read this book so many times I could nearly quote it. This must have been his favorite, as well. It was worn from reading countless times.

I picked it up to skim through the pages, and a flash of something white fell out from between the dog-eared pages.

A polaroid photograph had fallen out, face down onto the wooden floor.

"Shit...." I mumbled, scolding myself again for meddling. I hope he didn't have a specific page marked with that photograph, then he'd definitely know I had been looking around his room.

I reached down to pick it up, turning it over.

My heart nearly jumped out of my ribcage as I stared into the grey eyes of the dark haired girl in the photograph. It was the same photo the news channel had shown to identify her body.

Abigail Luxen.


	8. e i g h t

I woke with a headache, a sore back, and muted sunshine through the hazy curtains.

The door, which I had shut last night, was slightly ajar, the smell of warm black coffee wafting in through the crack.

Harry must be awake.

A wave of uneasiness fell over me as I remembered I was in his room.

I quickly made the bed, taking the time to say a 'thanks for letting me crash in your bed' with hospital corners, and crept down the stairs in bare feet.

The hiss of a wet iron skillet on a hot stove erupted from the kitchen.

He stood with his back to me, cracking a light brown egg into the hot pan. The sound reminded me of home, before my parents divorced. It was uncomfortable hearing it now.

His jagged-cut hair, which lay above his shoulders, was ruffled. No doubt from drunk sleeping on the couch. He had a white shirt, a size too large for him, that fell across his torso, the collar leaning heavily to one side. He had the same jeans on that he had last night, but had since removed his shoes. He stood barefoot, shifting slightly in front of the stove, reaching for different items in the kitchen.

He still hadn't noticed my presence.

It was nice to be a fly on the wall, at this moment. To simply stand, and observe. I stood in the doorway in complete silence, hoping to not disturb him or bring any attention to myself.

The reminder of the discovery I made last night hit me. It wasn't a dream. The picture of the dead girl was plastered to my mind's eye now. My mind replayed the heart stopping moment when I turned the fallen photograph over to reveal the face of the murdered girl.

He reached for an ingredient in the cabinet above the stove, his shoulder muscles shifting under the loose fabric of his shirt. I held my breath at his sudden movement. "Good morning." As if he had sensed my presence this entire time. His deep, gravely, morning voice showed no hint of a hangover. There was a slight annoyance that burned at the edge of his words. I glanced over at a full pot of stark black coffee, and the sizzling eggs he mixed on the stove.

"Good morning." I mumbled quietly, and sat down at the small table, pulling my knees to me. I knew I wanted to ask about the photograph. How does he know her? Or, I guess the more appropriate question would be how did he know her...

I wasn't sure how to bring it up; it would obviously be a touchy subject. And it had definitely not been a topic of conversation for a reason...I couldn't figure out how to approach it. My mouth halted every time words fell onto my tongue, so I clamped my teeth shut and folded my arms on the table, sighing. I felt it was best not to say anything.

The silence between us was so thick I could feel its weight on my shoulders. The pop of the eggs was the only noise, as well as the last few drops of freshly brewed coffee landing into the pot.

"Did you sleep okay last night?" I asked, trying to break the silence and start some sort of conversation. He didn't turn around, but instead nodded his head while pouring scrambled eggs into a bowl.

And then to my surprise.... a second bowl. For me? I hesitated, but didn't pursue with any questions. He set the two bowls down at he table with a heavy hand, and went back to get his red coffee mug, which was steaming beautifully.

"Thank you." I said, stabbing some eggs with my fork. I paused before they went in my mouth, hesitating right at my lips. I stopped, hesitant. Would I be able to tell if he had poisoned this...?

He raised his eyebrows at me questioningly over the brim of his coffee mug

I took a bite of eggs, tasting no arsenic or rat poison, and continued to take bite after bite until my bowl was completely cleaned. We ate in silence.

"So," I began hesitantly. The sun had risen more, and I could feel the world around me heating up. "Is there any way to get a spare key for the bedroom?"

"Why?" He snarked, finishing off his coffee, standing up and taking the empty bowls away to put in the sink.

"I'm paying for a bedroom."I said blandly. He glanced back at me.

"The couch isn't suiting you...?"

"It seemed to suit you just fine last night...." I murmured too quietly for him to hear. He waved me off.

"Give Ben a call. I've been trying to find that key for weeks." He wiped down the counter with a wet rag. I glanced up at him, his back still facing me.

Before I could think on it any longer, my attention was snatched by my phone, a vibrating alarm lighting up the screen.

MOM -incoming call

555-342-2345

I silenced the call.

"Late for work?" He said, running water into the sink, his back still to me.

I didn't reply, and instead dialed Ben.   
It rang twice, then went to voicemail.

Great.

"He didn't answer. " I said, setting my phone in front of me. "What if I tried to pick the lock...?"

"I have things to do." He snapped suddenly. "And it's an old lock. I've already tried."

I huffed.

He exhaled loudly, irritation flashing through his green eyes. "Look, I'll be back by 5:00. Can't you just find something to do until then?"

I could feel my face heating up.

"I'm paying rent for a bedroom. I need a key. I haven't even unpacked my shit yet...Can we go to town and find a locksmith or someth-?"

"Don't you work today ?"He pulled a cigarette out from a carton and stuck it behind his ear, leaning back on the counter, completely ignoring my question.

"No."

"Your second day and you're already playing hooky?" He smirked, fiddling with a silver lighter, letting the flame flick dangerously close to his fingertips. He turned to continue washing the dishes, his hands sinking deeper into the layer of suds.

"It's closed today. There's a vigil for the murdered girl tonight." I pried, running a finger around the rim of my mug nervously.

Suddenly, his body went completely rigid. The only movement was from the faucet filling the sink.

I held my breath.

Through his silence and rigidity, the sink began to overflow with water.

"Fuck..." he mumbled at the mess, snapping out of his trance and shutting the water off. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced back at me. 

There was a long pause before he answered.

"Fine. I'll work on the lock. Just leave me to it, don't bother me." He began wiping up the water that had puddled in the floor around his bare feet with towels, and never looked back at me.

****

I slammed the truck door behind me, and fastened my seatbelt. Harry put the truck into gear, and with a hesitant crank, the truck moved down the long gravel driveway. He was wearing the white shirt, still, but had changed into a new pair of khaki jeans. He adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Thank you for the ride..." I said quietly, shifting in the seat, re-crossing my legs.

"Whatever." He mumbled, steering the wheel with one knee, lighting a cigarette with a silver zippo lighter. He kept it between his teeth and draped a lazy hand over the front of the steering wheel.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, and tried to make a mental checklist of what I needed at the store. I couldn't focus past the third item or so, and decided to ask about the photograph. It's not like he could necessarily avoid the question, since we are in a vehicle.

"That girl that was murdered. Did you know her?" I asked quickly as an icebreaker to the subject, as to not give him time to come up with a false answer. He turned onto the main asphalt road that led into town.

"Who?" He replied sharply. Defensively.

"That girl. It's all over the news. Abigail something?"

"Oh." He said, hesitantly. "Yeah, I guess I knew her. By association. Worked with her for a little bit." He took a long drag on his cigarette, the plumes falling out of his nose and mouth like smoky waterfalls.

Worked with her...? She worked at the coffee shop...

"Did you work at Beans?" I questioned. He scoffed, but nodded.

"Yep. But I quit a few weeks ago."

"Why?"

"Can't stand shitty coffee." He remarked.

I sighed, and let the silence refill the air.

A few moments went by before I spoke. 

"She was very pretty." I said, matter-of-factly. I pulled a strand of hair behind my ear, and glanced over at him, his cigarette at an angle, resting on his bottom lip.

Spotted sunlight flickered through the trees and the truck windows to reveal freckles peppering his back and arms, shadowing his jawline, and high-lighted what looked to be like a small piercing scar on his nose. He ran a hand through his jagged hair.

"Yeah. She was." He said, almost to himself. His eyebrows furrowed only ever so slightly, and he finished off the cigarette, crushing it into the overflowing ashtray in the cupholder.


	9. n i n e

I decided to stop by a small convenient store to grab some toiletries and a few groceries; I didn't want to steal Harry's food any longer. Taking the items out of the bags, I placed the toiletries in their own little area in the bathroom's cabinet, giving Harry's supplies a wide berth. My clothes that I hung to dry from the downpour the other day hung stiff and bone dry on the shower rod in the corner of my eye. 

I sat alone in the kitchen after pouring myself some coffee.

Just as I settled down onto the threadbare love seat in the living room, the memory of finding the photograph flashed in my minds eyes, and I wondered if he wanted to come to the memorial service tonight. I couldn't lie and say I didn't have a second motive; riding my bike at night didn't sound too pleasant, especially with everything going on.

It was nearly 5:00 now, and I hadn't seen or heard from Harry since I got back from town . He stayed tucked away in his room, and I decided to keep myself busy by doing some housekeeping. I washed the few coffee mugs that were in the sink, and took out the half-full garbage can. The fridge was now stocked on one half with my food, and Harry's on the other side. Which was mainly beer.

Floorboards shifting over my head caused my breath to catch. Harry seemed to be pacing just above me.

."....updated case, in the brutal murder of the local young woman."

I jumped as the TV suddenly flickered on.

" Police are preparing for Abigail Luxen's memorial service tonight on the local square at 7:00, open to the public. Family and friends will be collecting donations for funeral costs, as well as handing out shirts. Candle lighting starts at 7:30, and the vigil will go until midnight tonight."

I glanced up at the ceiling once more, and then quietly walked over to the TV, staring at the remote control that sat docilely on the arm of the chair.

The screen flashed to an interview with a middle aged woman, who sported a bright pink shirt that read 'JUSTICE FOR ABBY.'

"Abigail was a good girl, and she didn't deserve to go like that. Justice has to be served."

A crowd of tacky, neon pink shirts flashed across the television screen as friends and family set up for the vigil tonight. I have watched my share of The First 48 to know that this had to be a crime of passion. That it was too brutal of a murder for it to have been a random killing. My stomach dropped as the ever familiar photograph faded onto the screen once again.

"Local businesses have been taking donations for the Luxen family, and many people have been sending in flowers and gifts to the family."

A hefty police officer flashed on the screen again. He was usually the one who was being interviewed on this case, so I assumed he was the Chief of Police.

"Alex Grey is now our major suspect, as well as being declared a missing person."

I shifted.

"His whereabouts are still unknown, and his family has declared him missing. If you have any information on this young man's location, please do not hesitate to contact the WPPD."

A highschool photograph of the handsome young man appeared on the screen.

"Abigail's fiancé, Alex Grey. Black hair. Age 22. Brown Eyes. 6'1."

A newscaster began interviewing the police officer.

"Is there a possibility of a serial killer?"

She shoved the microphone closer.

"I cannot release this information at this time."

"Officer, the residents of Wolfpine do not feel safe. What is the WPPD doing to bring justice for Abigail? The murderer is still out there."

"I can assure you, we are doing everything we can to find our killer. And we encourage residents to take every precaution they can. The autopsy reports come in tomorrow, and we will know more then." Small towns panic when things like this happen. I don't blame them. Everyone turns on one another; you start to question everyone's motives around you.

A creak at the stair made me jump.

I glanced over to see Harry turning towards the kitchen. He looked as though he had been sleeping, eyes heavy and hair ruffled. He said nothing as he passed, grabbing a pack of Marlboro off the kitchen table, and headed out the door.

I trailed behind. "Do you want me to fix your hair...?" I tempted. He sat on one of the porch chairs, lighting a cigarette.

"Now?" He questioned. I nodded.

"Sure." He smirked after a hazy exhale. I ran inside and grabbed the scissors.

He shifted to where he was sitting at the side of the chair, giving me the space I needed to work with his butchered hair. I ran a comb through his locks, twiddling the chopped ends between my fingers.

I mumbled, shaking my hand at the uneveness. "What the hell were you trying to do?"

"I needed a change." He shrugged, taking a drag off the cigarette and exhaling to the side. I started cutting.

Little tuffs of hair began falling around his ears and shoulders, brown strands landing on his neck and stark white shirt. He threw the butt of the cigarette to the side of the porch, and reached over to grab another.

"Sit still." I demanded, nearly cutting off a giant piece with his sudden movement. He scoffed.

"Throw me that lighter, would ya, love?"

I rolled my eyes, handing him his silver lighter. He flicked it on with a small clink.

"So." He said, sucking in smoke, closing the lighter. "What do you want in return for this favor."

I didn't respond right away... I swallowed, and pretended to be too focused on cutting his hair to realize he had caught on to my ulterior motive.

"What do you mean?"

He chuckled, shifting again. Jesus, it was like cutting a child's hair... I moved from the back of him to the front, trying to even out this choppy mess. I combed his hair over his forehead and over his eyes.

"You're not doing this out of the kindness of your heart, love." He said, blowing his hair out of his face and looking up at me with glassy, emerald eyes. They looked tired.

I sighed. "Your hair looked terrible." I lied. "I just couldn't take it anymore."

"You just wanted to run your hands through my hair." He said, smirking.

"Oh, fuck off. I can leave it half done and completely uneven if you want me to." I said, gripping the scissors.

He let the silence fill between us like a leak in a boat, and leaned back to let me finish.

"Alright then." He grumbled. "What do you want? Be honest."

I exhaled slowly. "I need a ride."

"Then you need to get your ass a car, babe." He said through a crooked smile of bleach white teeth. I exhaled loudly, slapping my hands to my side in annoyance. Little tuffs of his dark hair fell in a perfect circle around the chair. His shoulders were covered in little cuts of hair, and he started swiping them off his shirt as best as he could.

"I'm working on it, Marlboro." I scoffed. He paused, and glanced up at me.

"What the hell did you just call me?" He said, squinting his eyes in annoyance.

"You're not the only one who can give out nicknames." I retorted, snipping the scissors in mid air for effect. I took a step back and tilted my head, seeing a huge improvement already. I'm no cosmetologist, but at least it's better than what the hell it was before. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling around at the newly found evenness. He stood, cigarette still in his mouth, and shook his head, trying to rid himself of all the hair clippings that still lingered.

"Why do you need a ride now, Ellie?" He leaned on a support column on the edge of the porch, crossing one leg over the other.

"It's Elise." I crossed my arms. And leaned on the support column adjacent to him. "And I promised my boss that I would go to the memorial service tonight." I held my breath.

He stopped, the cigarette in his hand froze right before it got to his lips. He stalled for only a moment, and then carried on as if nothing had happened.

"Is that so." He mumbled, adverting his gaze to the woodgrain of the old porch. His eyes flicked back up to meet mine for a brief second.

I nodded silently.

"Would you want to come w-"

"No." He said sharply, cutting me off immediately. He waved a hand to silence me. "I don't do the whole, crowd thing, babe. You can go solo. I barely even knew that girl..." He said, shaking his head and looking off down the gravel driveway. He ended the life of the cigarette, and tossed it off the side of the porch, which had become a little graveyard of Marlboro cigarettes.

"But you have a picture of her."

I feel as if I would have shot him, he would've had the same reaction.

Immediately, his head whipped around to face me, his green eyes wilder than ever, and his face flushed snow white. Suddenly every nerve in my body ignited from my head to my feet.

"I wasn't, looking or anything; it just kind of...fell out of your book..." I stumbled over my own words, my mouth suddenly drier than ever.

In a slow movement, he pushed himself off of the column and strode over to me, his eyes still wide, and his face beginning to flush red now.

"First of all." He roughly ran his hands over his face, trying to calm his breathing. I was frozen to the spot. Suddenly he was not a foot from my face, towering over me, his face twisted in anger and frustration.

"Any pictures I may or may not have of whoever, is my damn business. Stay out of my shit." He threatened, his face wrinkled up in a mix of hurt, and anger.

"I-"

"I don't give a fuck. Stay out of my business. And I'm not taking you anywhere. Especially not to this memorial service bullshit. You have no reason to go. You didn't even fucking know her. " He pushed past me, hitting my shoulder with his, and slammed the door behind him.


	10. t e n

I scolded myself; running a hand through my hair and shaking my head. I exhaled, glancing over at the pieces of hair left on the porch, rolling like tumble weeds in the light breeze. I didn't mean to blurt that out, by any means. It was a question on the tip of my tongue and accidentally rolled off. 

He had every right to be pissed with me.

The hot air was cooling down, bringing nocturnal sounds throughout the forest. The smell of pine wafted through the trees, and the sky was beginning to turn a beautiful shade of peach, although the late afternoon was still young. I had a couple good hours left of daylight, but the trees shadowed the earth ahead of time. The rain yesterday had made the entire area moist and thick with humidity.

I glanced back at the house, and decided I couldn't stay. I had to get out of here. If anything, to give Harry alone time. I felt like I owed it to him. And it seemed like my bike was the only mode of transport; thankfully he had repaired it before our argument. I stepped back inside the door, grabbing my backpack and taking my phone off of charge.

6:57 P.M.

*100% CHARGED*

5 MISSED CALLS - MOM

I tucked my phone into my back pocket, pushing my way back out the door. I grabbed the handlebars and kicked the bike stand back, swinging my leg over the seat and beginning to pedal. The air was sticky, but the breeze from riding my bike left a cool kiss on my sweaty forehead. It had reflectors, and most of the road had street lamps scattered along. At most, I figured, there'd only be about 5 min that I was in darkness, after the stretch of asphalt and down the gravel road in leading back to the house. 

****

Police had sectioned off the town square, taping off and adjusting detours for the memorial service. Pink balloons were taped everywhere; on the lamp poles, bike stands, street signs. And nearly everyone wore a neon shirt, adorned with thick, bold, black font that read "justice for Abby", adoring the same picture of her that's been plastered literally everywhere...

...and that can be found in Harry's room...

I halted my bike, leaning it against the rest in front of The Cafe. Just as I parked, Auna, the owner of The Inn, walked out, locking the door behind her.

"Hey!" I said, half smiling. She wore the same neon shirt, and was holding a bouquet of pink roses.

"Elaine!" She beamed, opening her arms for a hug.

"It's Elsie." I murmured quietly, biting my tongue at her calling me the wrong name, and gave a small closed-lip smile. With one arm completely full with the flowers and her keys, she reached the other around me for a half embrace.

I hugged back lightly.

"I'm so glad you came." She said in a bitter sweet tone, and released me. I nodded, unsure of what to say.

"They're handing out candles in front of the Courthouse if you'd like to help." She said, motioning a wrinkled hand towards a tall, antique, white building.

"Sure." I said, trailing behind her. I didn't know anyone else in town, and it felt comforting to follow at least one somewhat familiar face.

"You'll get to meet your coworkers, actually. Jake said he'd be here, and Samantha is helping with our donation booth." She said, glancing back at me, as if reading my mind. I smiled. It would be nice to meet new people my age in town; Harry wasn't exactly the warmest welcome.

Families in pink shirts covered the entire area, holding balloons and sad faces. "I know you didn't know Abby," Auna began, politely walking past a crowd of people going the opposite direction, murmuring 'excuse me,' between every breath. "But I'm glad you came."

I nodded, and gave a quick smile. Town seemed like it was hosting a festival. The vibe was... odd. For one, the overflow of pink was just, well... tacky. And it was so uncomfortable seeing the picture of the poor girl plastered on every tshirt, every poster, every donation jar. Especially after seeing it on the old polaroid in his room... It was almost taunting me.

But among all of the crowd was an eerie murmur covered in a blanket of silence. Quiet hushes fell in waves over the tops of sweaty heads, and the only sound you could make out was heavy, hot breathing and the occasional buzz of a fly. The sea of pink was almost blinding as one shirt faded into another, creating a bit of an illusion to just how many people there were.

One could only assume Abby's favorite color was pink.

Auna seemed to know everyone we passed, and everyone we passed seemed to know her; they exchanged small smiles and nods, and quiet, hushed hellos as if it were a church service. I tried to stay close to her, matching her small steps and slow pace without smothering her. Each friendly gesture to Auna quickly turned into a strange "who are you" look towards me.

We arrived to a small, white fold out table covered in wicker baskets full of stick candles and holders. A huge mason jar, labeled "donations" sat between two of the baskets, nearly overflowing with cash. A red haired young woman sat manning the table, handing out candles to passerby's, and nodding quiet thank you's to those who put their share in the donation jar. She wore jean overalls with a black and yellow striped t-shirt underneath, and stained, white high top converse. Her hair was in a braid to the side, overgrown bangs falling into chocolate brown eyes.

"Hey Samantha." Auna said in a quiet voice, setting up the bouquet of flowers on the table.   
The red haired girl's brown eyes glanced over at me before replying.

"Lots of people have made donations." She said, breaking eye contact with me to embrace Auna. They hugged for a moment longer, and then released to turn to me. Sam looked as if she had been crying, her eyes bloodshot and swollen.

"That's great. Where's Jake?" Auna murmured.

"He went to get another other box of candles."

"Oh, I'm sorry- I almost forgot." Aunt shook her head, and motioned for me to come forward. "This is Elise; she just started working with us."

"It's good to meet you." I said quietly, giving a small wave.

"You can call me Sam," She murmured under her breath, her eyes studying me as she looked up and down. I felt judgement.

"I can help out at the table if you'd like..?" I said, glancing over my shoulder as people continued to pass by. I shifted my stance.

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, I spaced out." Sam said apologetically, laughing nervously, pushing her bangs back.

"I can imagine..." I said, unsure of what else to say.

Auna interjected softly. "I'm going to let you ladies handle this table, I'm going to finish gathering the flowers." And without a glance back, she was gone.

"Here," Sam said, motioning to the empty chair beside her. I sat down on the hot, sticky plastic, and tried to think of what to say. There was only a moment of awkward silence. Sam was a sweet girl, and kept the conversation going pretty well once we got started.

"She would've loved the turn out." She said suddenly, not looking over at me. I glanced at her, not having to ask to know that she was talking about Abigail Luxen.

"What was she like?" I asked cautiously. A family of five walked by, each grabbing a candle. We smiled our thank you's before turning back to each other.

"You know those girls you read about in novels?" She smiled, tilting her head to look over at me.

"Yeah..?"

"Yeah. That was Abby."

I looked down at my feet.

"She was very pretty." I said, trying to add to the conversation. I knew next to nothing about this Abigail girl; all but 2 things.

1) she was dead   
2) Harry knew her. Somehow.

And I wanted to know more about the second one. Something told me I shouldn't mention Harry to Sam. Not just the fact that he probably wasn't exactly Mr. Popular, but something else. I followed my gut and kept it to myself.

"She was beyond pretty." Sam pushed her bangs back again, interrupting my thoughts, nodding with a smile to another family who passed by to grab candles. "She didn't even have to try, which was the messed up part. Sucked for the rest of us... " She chuckled with a sigh.

"How long did you know her?"

"We grew up together. Middle school, high school. I didn't go to college, but she did-she was so smart. We were more like sisters, honestly. She lives- lived in the apartment beside me." She said, reminiscing.

"I heard on the news about her boyfriend...?" I pried, dropping my voice down to barely a whisper. Sam scoffed.

"He loved her. Just like everyone else." She said bluntly. I didn't reply... she seemed defensive."They were engaged. He wouldn't hurt her. Ever."

I nodded.

"He's just mourning in his own way, I think. He's probably just left town to be away from off of this....." She continued, waving her hands to the giant crowd around us. "The media is just..... I don't know."

Several more people stopped by, grabbing candles in preparation for when the sun went down, which by the sound of the crickets, was nearing fast. My back pocket vibrated rather violently against the plastic chair, and I jumped. Smiling at myself for being so nervous, and pulled it out to check.

8:20 P.M.

(1) NEW MESSAGE FROM:

*UNKNOWN*

My fingers opened the inbox icon, beginning to read the new message.

Where the hell are you? - H

A heavy cardboard box slammed down on the table in front of my face, and I shrieked, dropping my phone onto the concrete sidewalk. 

Sam cursed loudly, covering her mouth as she realized she had literally screamed in the middle of an otherwise quiet public event. A few people turned with glares in our direction and I blushed. "Jake what the hell." She muffled a laugh. I grabbed my phone, praying it didn't crack my screen, forgetting about replying to the the message and glanced up.

A stocky blonde haired young man stood in front of me, grinning.

"Oh, calm down." He took out a pocket knife and opened the box roughly, emptying the candles into the wicker baskets, replenishing the stock. He wore a tight black shirt, tucked neatly into dark denim pants. He had light blonde scruff around his face, leading up into short blonde hair and slightly tanned skin. His teeth were bone white, revealing an expensive past of braces. 

"Sorry, that would be Jake ." Sam replied humorously, and I felt her glance at me. Then felt a new pair of eyes fall on my figure.

"You must be the new girl at work. Elley, right?. " The tall blonde said, extending a strong hand.

"Elise, actually. It's good to meet you." I smiled, trying to will my blushing to hold off.

"Elise. Sorry." He said, his voice dropping into a lower register. His brown eyes scanned me as I shook his hand and he stood over me. His eyes flicked up from mine to meet Sam's, appearing to exchange a look before acknowledging an approaching Auna. I brushed the screen of my phone, grateful there were no cracks, and placed it back into my pocket.

"It's about time. The sun's almost down." Auna said, interrupting our meeting. I glanced over.

We all grabbed a candle, and a cardboard cover to prevent the wax from landing on our hands. Jake handed me one before I could grab it myself. I nodded a thank you.

There were lighters passing around as the crowd stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the town square. Hundreds of people lit their candles, the darkening sky still hazy with light pollution. Before I knew it, the night sky seemed to be among us all; each candle becoming a star in the navy darkness.

Jake stepped sideways, and his shoulder brushed against mine. I shifted, and wondered if that was accidental.

****

The prayer lasted a good couple of minutes; amen's murmured like ripples in water throughout the crowd, and then silence as everyone rose their heads and took in the sight around them.

The night sky had nothing on the hundreds of tiny little flames surrounding the crowd. I glanced over at Jake, who was a good foot taller than me, as the flickering candle lit up his face, shadowing his jawline and his brow bone. His eyes looked more hazel in this light as they flicked over to meet mine, and a foolish pang resonated through my entire chest.


	11. e l e v e n

Another hour of testimonials given by friends about Abigail, recounting stories and short memories, for the sake of time. I noticed that they were mainly regurgitations of each other's message;

"Everyone loves her."

"Everyone loved her."

The ceremony lasted a until around 11:30pm. One by one, the crowd dispersed. I could only guess the one's who stayed the longest knew Abigail more, and weren't there simply for a social act.

And then suddenly it was over. Workers began taking trash bags full of candles to the dumpster, releasing or giving away balloons to children, and taking down the donation tables. As if the local fair were cleaning up and moving on to the next town over.

Before long, the town square was back to normal, as ironic as that statement could be.

Sam had the idea of going back to The Cafe for a cup of coffee after we got done putting away the table, which both Jake and I obliged to. I wasn't ready to face Harry again, assuming he would be drunk and probably still just as angry when I got home.

The trill of a silver bell rang out as Jake opened the door, motioning for Sam and I to enter. Ladies' first. Auna was sitting behind the counter, bifocals covering her eyes as she counted the several donation jars that lay in front of her.

I followed, grabbing the chair beside her while Jake hopped onto the counter, grabbing three cups of steaming hot black coffee. Auna glanced up at us over her glasses, then went back to counting. .

Jake called from behind the counter. "Room for cream?" He gestured towards me.

I nodded. " Yes, please."

****

We sat in The Cafe for what seemed like hours in petty silence. Auna had finished counting, and the final count reached about $2,000 in cash donations. "And that isn't counting the checks that the other businesses are giving us. This will be more than enough for a decent funeral..." She clarified, putting all the money in a large envelope and putting her purse over her shoulder.

Auna called, lightly shaking her car keys at her side. "Elise, I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for coming tonight, again."

"See you tomorrow." I said quietly with a smile, as positively I could muster. I didn't feel a connection to Abigail yet, which I scolded myself for. I can't feel bad; I never knew her. Right? I placed a hand around my coffee cup, holding it right before my lips. The door quietly closed behind her.

"Jesus," Jake said in a heavy sigh, breaking the silence. He sat on the edge of the counter, and pushed a hand through blonde curls. "Her parents seemed.... weird." 

Sam shot a sharp glance his way.

He shrugged defensively. I must have looked confused, because he sighed and turned to me.

"Abigail's family is kind of shitty." He said bluntly. Sam rolled her eyes, and sipped her coffee. "So, Auna pretty much raised her after she got out of middle school."

"Oh, I see..." I said. It made sense as to why she was so passionate about Abigail's donations.

"They were like mother-daughter, for sure." Sam pushed her bangs back from her eyes, sipping on her coffee. "And Auna never had kids of her own. So it's even worse. They were almost freakishly close."

Jake spoke up. "Yeah. Auna took care of her. Hell, she completely renovated the upstairs for her." He finished off his coffee, and went around to put the mug in the sink.

"The upstairs...?" I pried.

"There are three small apartments above the cafe." He called, glancing over his shoulder. "Abby was in room B."

"Wait, she lived, here... like above the cafe?" I inquired. I glanced around the cafe.

"Yeah. I live here, too. So does Sam." Jake said, grabbing our empty coffee cups. Sam nodded.

"So you just pay rent to Auna?" I asked, curious. He nodded.

"She deducts it from our paychecks. Auna only fixed up the upstairs for Abby, though." He said. I made a mental note to ask about renting the vacant room.... "Abby was here first, we just kinda came into the picture later." Jake continues, resuming his spot on the counter. "It got a little cramped when Alex moved in with me, though." 

Alex...? The missing fiancé ...?

Sam stood from her chair. "I guess I'll see you two tomorrow. I'm exhausted. It was good meeting you, Elise." She threw her purse over her shoulder with a smile, and waved a goodbye, heading to the back of the store. She turned right down a hallway, and I could hear her footsteps ascending a creaky wooden staircase.

"She's been having to cover double shifts, since we're... short staffed," Jake said, adjusting himself. " I glanced back at him. He sat cooly on the counter, and I could feel his stare.

"Did you know her very well?" I asked. He glanced at the ceiling, turning the question over in his head as if it were candy in his mouth.

"Abby? Yeah." He said, finally. "She lived right next to me, so we were kinda like same- floor-apartment buddies. And we worked together a lot. We all hung out together; Sam, and me and Alex and Abby and -" He shook his head, cutting off at the last name with a forced cough. I glanced up as he continued. "But do you ever really ever know someone?"

"She seemed popular." I said, avoiding that existential question, feeling as if that were an understatement. I felt like I was tiptoeing, cautious not to say the wrong thing. I had already made that mistake once today...

"Abby made you feel..." he let the words run off of his tongue slowly, "... I don't know. Like you were important. Even if you were talking about the weather with her. She made you feel as if whatever you had to say was being heard. That you were being heard. And that's why I think so many people loved her."

He talked about this woman as if he loved her.

"Plus she was fucking drop dead gorgeous. She was definitely easy to fall in love with." He finished, as if reading my mind. For some reason, I blushed at this. If she was this incredibly amazing human being, then why did this happen? What could have led to someone brutally ending her life? Jealousy? Something else?

I pulled out my phone, just now remembering the message from earlier that I had forgotten to read.

11:54 P.M.

UNKNOWN:

Where the hell are you. -H

"Fuck...." I said in a whisper. I can only guess who "H" is. How did he even get my phone number? He sent that message hours ago... "I have to go."

"I can walk you to your car." Jake said, too eagerly. I felt my face flush.

"Actually..." I said, pouring the rest of my coffee in the sink that I saw Jake wash his out in. I panicked, throwing my backpack over my shoulder and making my way walking backwards to the door. "I rode my bike here."

"What? You're kidding." He half-laughed.

"I'm not." I shrugged. "But I really have to go-"

"Are you serious?" He pressed, hopping off the counter to come nearer to me. I nodded, smiling out of consolation.

"Yeah," I rubbed the back of my neck. "Haven't had time to invest in a car, yet. So I ride on two wheels. I'll be fine, really."

He chuckled, revealing small dimples placed evenly on both cheeks. "I'll give you a ride." He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. "Where do you live?"

"Oh, no no no," I interjected, putting my hands in my pockets and heading for the door. I can only imagine Harry's drunken anger embarrassing me in front of my new coworker. "I'm totally fine; thank you though."

"I can't let you!" He said, jumping in front of the doorway playfully. I mentally rolled my eyes but forced a smile, my heart racing from panic. "You can't possibly think about riding a bike home at this time of night. "

"Really, I'm fin-"

"Look." He said, pleading. "I don't think I have to explain to you just how dangerous it is out there with a killer on the loose. Plus, there's a curfew" His eyes flashed with worry. I hated to admit it. But, he was right.

I didn't want to risk getting questioned by the police.

"Okay." I said, throwing my hands up and exhaling.

He smiled, and opened the door, holding it with one hand and and gestured me out.

*****

He drove a smaller, silver economy car. Luckily enough it had a bike rack, and we easily hitched it to the back. He rushed around to the side and opened the passenger side door for me. I blushed, but was thankful it was too dark for him to see. The door shut behind me, and I fastened my seatbelt. The car smelled of new leather, and a hint of pine air freshener.

He slid into the drivers side, turning the ignition on, and drove out of the back parking lot of the Cafe.

"So. Where to?" He asked, one hand on the wheel. He rolled down the windows, and the cool night air circulated around us, carrying the smell of hot pavement and pine.

"Um, turn left up there." I said quietly, motioning to the road that would lead us to the gravel road.

"So, I'm just going to ask the obvious. What in the hell made you come to this shitty little town?" He said in an exaggerated way, smiling and as cliche as ever. I felt my throat tighten; this was something I definitely did not want to delve into.

"It's a long story." I said, half laughing. I put a hand to my forehead, hoping he'd leave it at that. He glanced over, putting on his blinker.

"I've got time." He smirked, and held my gaze until he turned onto the old road. His biceps flexed under his black shirt. I sighed.

"It's not that long of a drive." I corrected, shifting in my seat, and flashing a stern smile. He laughed nervously.

"Okay, fair enough. I get it. Boundaries, and all.." He smirked. I glanced out the window. The trees flew by, barely highlighted by his headlights.

"You turn down this gravel road...." I motioned left up ahead, and his blinker turned left.

"I think I've been down this road, before." He said, mostly to himself. The pine trees held the sounds of crickets and tree frogs, and they were cut off as the car sped by. The gravel crunched under the tires. It was a warm night for early summer, just enough for a comfortable bonfire to keep you warm.

A small glow at the end of the road signaled the light of the little cabin shining through the night. 

As the little silver car pulled up, the headlights hit the front porch. And landed right on Harry, sitting in one of the chairs in just a pair of jeans, and holding a bottle of whiskey. Drunk. I felt my stomach drop in embarrassment. I knew I should have just-

"You've got to be kidding me." Jake said slamming on the breaks. I jolted forward with the sudden stop. I sat frozen, confused at his sudden, angry reaction. Before I could even respond, he threw the shift into park and was out of the car, not bothering to turn the ignition off, and began striding towards Harry.

"You fucking live with this son of a bitch?!" Jake yelled, standing right in front of the porch, glancing back at me. I unbuckled myself as fast as I could and jumped out. What the hell is going on?

Harry sat somewhat calmly where he was on the porch, carefully setting the bottle down beside him as Jake fumed not three feet away. He tossed what looked to be a cellphone to the side, not bothering whether it shattered or not. My heart raced as I tried to gather what the hell was happening in front of me. I didn't want to stand between them, so I stood to the side.

"Thanks for texting me back..." Harry slurred, glaring at me and rubbing a hand on his head. Jake was pacing at this point.

"So is this your little hideout?" Jake fumed, rushing Harry and pointing a harsh finger to the little cabin, veins popping out in his forearm.

"Oh, would you just fuck off, Jacob." Harry said, trying to stand on drunken legs. He stumbled backwards slightly, but caught himself. Jake's face twisted up in anger and in a split second cleared the steps onto the porch and punched Harry straight in the nose, sending a splatter of blood onto the cabin wall behind them.

"What the hell?!" I screamed, jumping up to push Jake back off of Harry, who was now slumped against the wall, trying to stand back up. Jake looked like he was seeing complete red and was beyond reasoning.

He spun around on his heels to face me, and his hazel eyes were wide with adrenaline.

"He fucking killed her."


	12. t w e l v e

I stood breathless, looking back between Jake, his knuckles reddening, and then Harry, who was wiping the crimson liquid off of his face with the back of his hand, leaning against the cabin wall for support.

"Why haven't you been back to work, Harry?" Jake said, still fuming. "Where have you been? What the fuck have you done?"

"You need to leave." Harry managed, slurring, ignoring his questions and gesturing towards Jake's car under a furrowed brow. He stumbled back, catching himself again with a wince.

"What the fuck." Jake shook his head, sending a glare towards me. "You really live here?"

My breath caught in my throat. "Yes, I..."

Harry's nose bled profusely, a steady stream flowing over his lips and down his chin, dribbling onto his neck and chest. I couldn't tell through all the blood if it had been broken...

"I can't let you stay here." Jake said in a solidly serious tone. He reached to grab for my wrist and I stepped back out of his grasp. "Did you not hear what I said? This guy isn't safe." His voice rose in frustration as he watched me turn to walk up the steps to the cabin. I turned to see his eyes clouded and narrowed with worry as he glanced between Harry and I.

"This is where I pay rent- I can't just...You need to leave." I began, as matter-of-factly as I could. He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands in the air and raising his voice.

"You don't underst-"

"I believe she told you to leave, Jacob." Harry said, in as sober of a tone as he could muster. I glanced back at him. Jake's eyes danced from Harry, to me, back to Harry, and finally focused back to me.

"He was the last one seen with her, Elise." Jake pleaded. His face was flushed red with adrenaline and his entire body was shaking.

"Look," I tried, bargaining. "This is where I live, it's where all my shit is-I can't leave."

I'm not running away from my problems.

He stared at me, and let the thought process. Pinching the place between his eyes, he exhaled, ultimately defeated.

"Whatever you think he did..." I said, trying to convince myself as well as Jake, "...he didn't. He's just a roommate... I'll see you at work tomorrow. Okay?" I glanced back up and could see the conflict going on in his mind.

"If you're not there tomorrow, I know exactly where to send the police." He directed that towards Harry and sent him a final glare. Glancing backwards once more, he got in his car and left.

Once the headlights disappeared, I turned around to stare at Harry, who was making his way into the cabin, running a hand through his hair. I turned, trying to process what had just happened, and quickly chased after him. He left a trail of blood on the floor, and I rushed in to find him standing in the kitchen over the sink, a dish towel wiping away the blood splattered all over his face.

"He's got a shit right hook..." He said, half humorously to himself, his back still to me. I stood in the doorway completely dumbfounded.

"Why did he say you killed that girl?" I cut straight to the chase, my heart beating so loud I could barely hear the words leave my mouth. He sighed deeply, and turned around, leaning against the sink. Blood had dropped down onto his bare chest and covered the lower half of his face. With a scowl, he brought the dishtowel to his nose, plugging the slow bleeding.

"Jake always has been good at... overreacting." He replied sarcastically, his voice muffled from the dishtowel.

"That's an understatement. He accused you of murdering someone. " I said bluntly, crossing my arms, hoping that he couldn't see my heart pounding out of my chest. He froze for a moment, glaring up at me, before adjusting the cloth on his nose.

"Calm down, I didn't kill her." He said, casually tilting his head back to the ceiling, wincing. One hand kept balance on the counter, while the other applied more pressure.

"So it's his word against yours, then?" I argued. Little droplets hit the floor around his feet like red paint as he lowered his head, green eyes flashing to meet mine.

"I guess." He mumbled.

"But you did know her." I pressed sharply, perhaps too far.

"She and I were friends, alright!?" He said suddenly, raising his voice, wiping the rest of the blood off of his chest, smearing it. "Happy now?" He mumbled. There was so much blood due to the fact that he had been drinking, so it took a while for his nose to stop.

"Is it broken...?" I asked quietly, shifting the conversation. It was a genuine question; Harry's face was beginning to swell, but his nose looked normal nonetheless. He shook his head gently, throwing the towel into the sink.

"I'm so glad your little friend knows where I live, now." He said coldy, breaking the silence. I glanced up at his bloodshot stare.

"He's obviously no stranger to you- I just met him today. " I corrected, crossing my arms.

"He used to be a friend, thank you very much. You just met him today and he's giving you rides home? A stranger? How the fuck do you know he's not the murderer?" He remarked bluntly, wiping the dishrag down him chest to get any remaining blood and spitting into the sink. I rolled my eyes. "But I get it it, he was just 'being nice.' Sorry to ruin your possible one night stand, kid." He set the rag back down, picking up the now empty bottle of whiskey, tossing it into the trash. He brushed past me, making his way into the bathroom.

"Excuse me?!" I exclaimed, rushing in behind him and stopping the door with my hand before he could slam it closed. He shrugged, and left the door wide open. Ignoring my presence, he turned the dial on the shower and the water began cascading down in cold little droplets.

"He gave me a ride because he didn't like that I'd be riding my bike home at one in the morning. Which is something that could have been completely avoided if somebody had given me a ride in the first place!" I said angrily over the gentle hum of the water hitting the bottom of the porcelain tub. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah. Always a gentleman, that Jake." He mumbled. I was taken aback. "I can't help that you don't have a car. I didn't sign up to be your chauffeur. " He turned, seeming completely sober when he looked me dead in the eyes to tell me this. I stood still, unable to think of a response. He rolled his eyes. "You go through my stuff, in my room, and are suddenly demanding answers? Have I asked you a single question? Have I went through your things? " His voice rose as the water beginning to steam up the small room. I leaned against the doorframe and blushed, adverting my eyes. He was right... he hadn't.

"I haven't asked you, 'hey, why the fuck is this random girl moving in with me? I haven't asked any questions of you, have I? I barely even know your name, yet you're living with me. Have I asked anything of you, other than to stay out of my buisness?" He demanded, making the question no longer rhetorical.

"No..." I said quietly. He was right. I didn't want him to start asking those kinds of questions...

"Then don't ask me anything about mine."

"Well, it's kind of hard when a guy comes up and punches you in the face, accusing you of murdering someone. Who wouldn't ask questions?" I battled back, trying to stand my ground. I understood where he was coming from, but I don't trust him. It would be nice to know who I was living with.

"Someone who knows how to mind their own fucking buisness." He grumbled. He started to take off his jeans and I stalled. I knew he was still drunk-the hit to the face didn't turn out to be too sobering- and so I wondered how much information I could get out of him.

"But the picture-"

"Fuck the picture." He said, peeling off his jeans and revealing just black boxers. I adverted my eyes and turned my head.

"I just don't understand why you-"

"You don't have to. We were just friends. We worked together. End of story." He cut me off, stating matter of factly.

I was at a loss for words. He sighed, and turned, running a hand through his wavy, messy hair, keeping his back to me. he stood in a pair of boxers, his body the epitome of exhaustion, both emotional and physical. From the side, I could tell his face still had little dried rivers of blood, and his green eyes looked beyond tired; bloodshot and swollen. He definitely earned himself a black eye tonight.

"Is that why you drink all the time...?" I asked quietly.

He turned his head, confused by my statement. His eyelids drooped heavily. I exhaled as he shifted, waiting for me to continue with my question. It made sense in my mind, so I asked what was on my mind.

"Because you feel guilty for killing her?"

There wasn't even a pause.

"Because I fucking loved her."


	13. t h i r t e e n

There was complete silence, aside from the glimmer of faint heat lightning and gentle thunder in the distance. He rested against the bathroom counter, his back to the sink, his eyes glaring up to meet my gaze.

"Because I loved her." He repeated, almost as if he himself couldn't believe what had come out of his mouth just moments earlier. I stayed silent as little pebbles of rain began hitting the windows.

"But so did everyone else." He added, his tongue suddenly sharp, and pushed himself off the counter. The tub filled to the brim with water just as he shut the dial off. He brushed past me, back into the kitchen, moving to open the top part of the freezer. He reached in, pulling out a frozen bag of corn. He hit it against the counter a few times to loosen the contents, and then sat at the kitchen table, holding the frozen bag against the right side of his face with a hiss.

I felt as if my shoes were nailed into the floor.

"Come on, sit." He winced, half asking, half ordering, as he adjusted the bag. I bit my tongue. I crept around the corner to the kitchen, walking quietly, afraid that any noise on my part would add fuel to the fire.

"Would you toss me one?" He motioned to the fridge.

I opened the fridge, glancing sideways, grabbing a canned beer, and set it down in front of him with a dull thud. Curious, but cautious, I sat in the chair across from him, pulling one knee up to my chest. His can opened with a foamy hiss, and he wasted no time drinking half of it in one gulp, his other hand still pressing firmly on the off-brand bag of ice. He cursed under his breath as he applied pressure.

By now, the rain was pelting the windows and the tin roof. It had become a steady roar as the lightning cackled around us. I watched as he set the beer in front of him, adjusting himself, as if he were about to speak again. I danced around asking another question, but each time my mouth fell short. He winced, taking the bag away from his face, shuffled the frozen corn inside, and replaced it against his eye, more firmly. The kitchen seemed smaller than usual.

"Do you want one?" He said, slightly hiccuping, raising the beer can to his mouth once more. I hated beer. But I nodded, and grabbed myself one, hoping having the foreign object in my hand would be more comforting than wringing my fingers together. The cold metal was less than reassuring. I tried to find words in my mouth as I opened the tab, foam hissing over the edge. I cursed as it ran over onto the table. I took a large gulp, trying not to gag.

"Fuckin' Jake.." He murmured, mostly to himself. He winced as he touched his nose, fingers running over the bridge, wondering if it were broken. I drank as much as I could of the beer, setting it back down and feeling the lightness of the can. Just drink one. So you won't be as nervous, I tried to convince myself. I had my fair share of drunken nights, but that was long ago. I felt a little head rush, but ignored it.

He smirked, catching my grimace. Then winced, his stomach musv cles tensing with the movement. I ran my finger over the condensation of my can, and tried to maintain myself.

"I get why you're confused." He began, his voice lay low and smooth as it traveled over the kitchen table, barely audible. I didn't look up.

"If I am going to continue to live here..." I began slowly, choosing every word carefully. "I need some answers."

He finished off his beer. "No."

"Then I will leave. Tonight." I threatened, trying to ignore the fact that he probably could call my bluff. The sudden monsoon roared just outside, and it was in the middle of the night. Not to mention the fact that I have no where else to go, or means of transportation. I turned the can up and finished nearly half of it, trying to mask the shiver in my voice with confidence.

He sighed, and pushed his empty beer can to the side.

"I'm not bluffing." Angry and determined, I carried on. "I'll leave." I finished off my beer, grimacing at the last few drops, and accidentally slammed it on the table. He glanced at up at me curiously with his one non-blackening eye, clouded and bloodshot, and stood, grabbing two more beers. One for me. didn't really want another, but wasn't about to voice that. He sat his his elbow resting on the table, the bag to his face, holding up his head. A strong hand undid the tab with a hiss, and slid the new beer over to me. My eyes flicked back up to see him staring intently.

"You have no where else to go, do you?" He dared slowly, rhetorically, and smirked, wincing again at the facial movement.

"Fuck you." I retorted quietly, abruptly standing from my chair, slightly stumbling, the wooden legs squeaking harshly against the floorboards.

"Easy, easy, sweetheart." He said, gesturing with a casual hand to sit back down. I scoffed, and turned to walk out. Hoping he'd believe my bluff and give in. I really don't have anywhere else to go... Just as my feet hit the living room, I heard him call out.

"Hey, hey, okay, fine." There held a small hint of compassion, and I turned the corner to see him hissing and wincing with the sudden movements. He still sat in his black boxers, his shoulders hunched as he cradled the makeshift icepack to his face. The muscles in his arm flexed as he readjusted, and his stomach tensed and tightened as he crossed one leg over another. He still had specks of dried blood around his mouth and nose, and the bruise was now creeping over from his eye and yellowing across his nose.

"I deserve some answers." I said sternly. He nodded in a small way, one that was barely noticed.

"Fair. Three questions for tonight. And quick." He said matter-of-factly, sitting forward in his seat, and motioning towards the bathroom. "I deserve a nice hot fucking bath." He added humorously. I smirked, mainly out of consolation, and sat back down at the table.

"Just three?" I inquired, taking a tiny swig of the beer. Disgusting, but not as bad as the first sip . He smiled at the grimace I made after the bitter liquid swished around my mouth. I tried chugging the rest of it, but only made it about three fourths of the way down.

"Yes. I took a fist to the face tonight, thanks to you. Now I make the rules." He replied, somewhat playfully. The smile was fake. Before I could infer, he held a hand up to silence me. He motioned towards my beer with raised eyebrows, asking if I was done with it.

"No no, I'll finish it." I said, but immediately felt sick to my stomach at the thought. I held up a finger, motioning for him to give me a moment. I could've swore I saw a grin from him as I turned the rest of the can up, finishing it off. Two down.

"So you ask the questions tonight. I'll ask the questions I have for you tomorrow. We have one 'pass.' Deal?" He chugged the rest of his own beer down. I nodded, feeling extremely bloated.

"Question one?" He pushed, re-crossing his legs, and smirking, half of his face hidden by the bag. I exhaled, and brought my hands from my lap to the table. I didn't like the whole "three question" rule, but it was progress. It was something.

"Okay..." I began. My words felt heavy on my tongue from the beer. "Did you kill her?"

"You're wasting a question; I already told you I didn't." He said, rolling his eyes.

"Fine. Were you the last one to see her, alive?" I saw him slightly flinch at the word, 'alive.'

"The person who killed her was the last one to see her, I assume. So I couldn't be the last one to have seen her. " He said, strategically maneuvering around the question. He raised an eyebrow as he took another sip. I was impressed, feeling the warmth of the alcohol.

"But you-"

"That was question one. Next question." He leaned back in his chair.

"Wait a second, I didn't-"

"Next question." He demanded, suddenly serious. I leaned back in my chair, mimicking his movement.

"Fine." I grumbled. "If you didn't kill her... Who did?"

He adjusted himself, suddenly having to clear his throat from a cough. He stared at the ground before him, and then finally glanced up with his one visible eye. "I'm not sure." He said, running the simple response over his tongue extremely slow, letting it rest on the air for quite a while. My heart leapt into my throat. "But I think I know who did." His tone was extremely flat. And serious.

Before I could press more, he interrupted, raising a hand to me.

"Last question, sweetheart." He said sternly, all playfulness gone. I furrowed my eyebrows at him. He faked a smile, half of his face still hidden. I hated the pet names he had given me and couldn't help but wonder if it was because he didn't remember my real name. I sighed, and took the time to come up with a good question. I didn't want to waste the last one on something petty. I was at the point where my head was swimming from the alcohol. I wasn't drunk. But drinking those two beers in such a short time sure did make me feel awfully tipsy. My lips felt heavy and my words were slightly more drawn out than usual.

"So, you said you loved her." I began, looking down at the woodgrain of the table. I felt his glare bore into me immediately. I wasn't ready to look him in the eyes. "Did she love you?"

My question was met with eerie silence, and I couldn't contain myself. I looked up at Harry, who now had both eyes closed, and seemed to be meditating. The storm even seemed to falter at my question. I felt the perspiration begin to collect in my hand from my nervousness, and wondered if I had actually asked that; if I had not just imagined the question to myself.

The storm grew louder around us, the wind picking up and throwing little branches at the windows as well as droplets of rain. Harry exhaled, and stood, removing the frozen bag to reveal a swelling black eye, red from the ice pack, and also busted blood vessels. He pushed the chair under the table, and leaned against the top part for support. He shifted his feet, his muscles tensing and then relaxing, over and over again.

"Pass." He murmured, as if his voice were raindrops on a window pane, almost too quiet for me to hear. He faltered for a moment, and then turned, making his way to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

I didn't press for anymore questions that night.


	14. f o u r t e e n

I awoke on the threadbare couch to the beeping alarm on my phone, the sound of thunder, and the smell of coffee.

10:30 A.M.

*ALARM*

13 MISSED CALLS- MOM

Sliding the alarm to silence, I fell back into the pillows. I had work in a few hours. Thank god I had set the alarm last night or I probably would have slept the entire day. The rain had apparently continued through the night and carried into the morning. The thunder was quieter now, but the rain still beat against the windows steadily.

The house was a duller gray due to the lack of morning sun, and the entire vibe felt foggy. The warm smell of coffee came from the kitchen, and I had assumed that Harry had made a pot before he left for wherever he went during the day. I glanced down to see I was covered in bedsheets, and behind my head were softer pillows that weren't there when I had passed out last night.

I don't remember what time it was that my mind finally settled enough to allow me to sleep, but it was in the early hours of morning. My body felt like a tooth ache, worn and tired from the previous night.

I pushed the blankets to the side, and shuffled into the kitchen, deliberating on whether or not I'd have time to shower before I went in to work.

To my surprise, Harry sat at the kitchen table, a red cup of coffee in one hand, a paperback copy of The Shining in the other. His eye was still pretty damn swollen, now black with shades of deep maroon. His nose was swollen as well, the bridge slightly raised higher than normal. Steam from the coffee circled around his face, cascading over the slight stubble that now peppered his chin.

He barely glanced over at me before mumbling a good morning and turning another yellowed page of his novel.

"I figured you would have left already?" I questioned, moving to the counter to pour myself a full cup of coffee. I would need it today, for sure. He took a sip of his own, wincing at the warmth.

"I'm taking a personal day." He mumbled in a gravely baritone voice, sending me a glare over his brows and pointing to his blackened eye. I stifled a chuckle and nodded instead, turning my back to add cream and sugar. I stirred with a small silver spoon, watching the black liquid turn into a warm caramel brown, and sat down at the table across from him, pulling my legs closer towards me. It was early summer, but damn these mornings were cold.

"How do you drink as much as you do and not have a hangover?" I asked, rubbing a hand on my temple and leaning over the steam of my coffee cup.

He let out a low rumble of a scoff. "You can't have a hangover if you don't stop."

I rolled my eyes at his reply. "Did you bring those blankets to me last night?" I asked, wondering if I could catch him off guard. He shrugged.

He took another sip, turning a page in his novel, as if it were far more interesting than whatever was going on in reality. I smirked.

"What's that? Marlboro has a heart after all?" I grinned, taking a sip of my own coffee. My attempt to be a smartass nearly backfired as the scalding hot coffee burned a solid layer off of my tongue and lips. He sighed, and dog-earred the page he was on. Annoyed, he set the book down on the table and leaned the chair back on two legs.

"Or," he proposed, "It's so blatantly obvious that you cannot take care of yourself, being drunk after, what, a beer and a half? That somebody has to make sure you don't die of alcohol poisoning." He exaggerated greatly. "And that responsibility befell on me last night."

"Excucse me?" I interjected, gripping my coffee mug.

"You're welcome."

"I was not drunk."

"You were slurring."

"So?"

"I found you passed out on the couch."

"I fell asleep."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart." He grinned through a sip of coffee, bleach white teeth against black liquid. "And stop calling me Marlboro," he said sharply, ironically pulling a cigarette out and placing it gently behind his ear.

I crossed my arms. I might have been tipsy, but I did not forget our conversations last night whatsoever. I squinted my eyes at him.

Suddenly, three hard knocks fell on the front door. I jumped, seeing Harry's brows furrow as he stood.   
Shifting around in my chair, I saw what appeared to be three police officers, on the other side of the white linen curtain.

I whipped around to face Harry.

"Go upstairs." He said calmly, taking a sip of coffee and setting his paper back down on the table. 

"What?" I faulted. He shushed me.

"Unless you want to be questioned. Go upstairs." He repeated, harsher this time, as three loud knocks befell the door once more.   
"Police Department." Game a muffled voice from the other side of the wood grain.   
Fuck.   
I stood quietly, my heart screaming in my chest, and snuck over to the stairs, creeping up as quickly as I could without making noise. I went to open Harry's bedroom door, but it was locked. I cursed to myself, but ducked down, gliding farther down the hallway out of sight as I heard the door open. Adrenaline electrified my veins.   
I couldn't make out the voices, and suddenly was met with silence as they all went to talk on the front porch, with a backwards glance from Harry.

****

I sat quietly, waiting with bated breath for what seemed like hours.

The harsh opening of the door jolted me back to reality, allowing me to release a breath, and I peered over the railing to see Harry closing the door behind him, locking it fully.

"What did they want?" I rushed down the stairs, still maintaining a hushed voice.

"Not much." He retorted, taking the time to secure the extra slide and chain locks. I felt my heart rate increase.

"What?!" I exclaimed, and he glanced out between the curtains.

"Will you hush!?" He scolded, and motioned for me to go into the kitchen area. I glared at him as he replied blandly. "They were just asking if I knew anything." 

"Well...What did you say?"

"That I used to work with her." He said, voice flat. I thought back to last night...

"And........?" I pressed, rubbing my sweating palms together.

"That was it. Told me they might have questions and to not leave town." He said, unbothered. If I hadn't saw the beads of sweat along his temple and hairline, I'd believe he genuinely was unaffected.

"I told them I just worked with her." He said. If I hadn't known better

"Anyway," he interrupted loudly, glancing over at the clock on the stove and stretching his arms up over his head. "I figured you'd want a ride to work. You know, since it's storming." I sat in shock.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked blatantly.

"I'm trying to be a better roommate, sweetheart." He said, clenching his teeth on the last word. I shuffled in my chair and leaned forward.

"Then yes... a ride would be nice. Marlboro."

*****

The truck ride was rather quiet between us. Rain pelted the windshield like heavy rocks, so it did well to drown out the silence between us. I was grateful Harry had offered the ride. I don't believe I would have been able to bring myself to ask him to take me to work after everything last night.

I still had so many unanswered questions. But I had figured this would take time... It was worth the wait.

Did I believe he killed her?

I was very doubtful. He seemed genuine when he said he loved her. His pupils dilated lustfully. Plus, it answered the question of "why the hell does he have a photograph of Abigail Luxen." Because he loved her. Simple.

It was so vague of an answer, but it held so much weight. And if I was being honest, the thought of this man having any passion for anything besides alcohol and cigarettes seemed impossible to me. Harry didn't seem the type to love anyone, or anything, for that matter.

I glanced over at him. His eyebrows were furrowed; he seemed deep in thought. His jade irises focused intently on the road, half of his face swollen and blackened. I looked down at my hands.

I hoped work wouldn't be awkward with Jake. I needed to talk to him. Then I wondered if he had anything to do with Harry offering to bring me to work today.

Harry pulled the truck around to the back of the cafe, and I nodded my thanks. As I opened the passenger door, the rain went from a muffled hum to a full on roar. I threw my jacket over my head and made a run for it, pelted by the heavy raindrops.

I reached the little archway under the backdoor, stalling to look back as Harry drove off into town without a second glance my way.


End file.
